


Let It Be Lightning

by alexenglish



Category: One Direction (Band), The Voice (Ireland) RPF, Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Fate & Destiny, Giant Robots, Jaeger Pilots, Kaiju (Pacific Rim), M/M, Misgendering, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Other, Past Character Death, Polyamory, Queer Themes, Science Fiction, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 06:30:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10803675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: Niall Horan made a choice when he enlisted with the Pan Pacific Defense Corps. Leave his family and try to make a difference. He started out as a Jaeger Tech, elbow-deep in the greasy guts of the machines that were supposed to save the world, but here he is, five years later, fresh out of the Ranger Academy with another choice to make:Assemble a team of Rangers able to pilot two or more Jaegers at any given moment. Interchangeable partnerships, all Drift Compatible with each other. The implications of pulling off this project are astronomical, but at the end of the day, Niall's just worried about how many people are going to end up inside his head.





	Let It Be Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> It's been nearly 4 years since Pacific Rim was released and I've always wanted to write this AU, so here I am. Honestly, I feel like the epitome of the 'shows up late with Starbucks' meme, but at least the second one is coming out for sure now and a revival of PacRim AUs could definitely occur! Everything here is gleaned from watching the movie nearly a dozen time and the lovely [PacRim Wiki](http://pacificrim.wikia.com/wiki/Pacific_Rim_Wiki) that saved my life over and over. 
> 
> **Important note:** A character is misgendered for approx. the first quarter of this fic until Niall corrects himself. It's not malicious, but Niall is cis and makes assumptions. Also, I changed Niall's birth year so that he's 22 in 2019, meaning he was born in '96 and all the other characters ages are adjusted as well. 
> 
> By pure good will of the universe, I got to work with two of my favorite artists in fandom [Tara](http://tommot5.tumblr.com/) and [Yuzu](http://citricac1d.tumblr.com). I can't even express how thankful I am for a lovely accompanying piece and hope people can bear to scroll past the beauty of it and read the fic itself. (It's difficult, I know. I made it phone background so I could stare at it frequently.)
> 
> The hugest most thankful thanks to [Kat](http://sleepy-skittles.tumblr.com) for the beta as always. I don't know what I would do without you. Thank you to Di and Jay for reassuring me early on, and Tanisha for sheer enthusiasm about everything I write. 
> 
> [Title.](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/151122321557/mortalpractice-there-you-were-with-your)

 

 

_Fate is the endless chain of causation, whereby things are; the reason or formula by which the world goes on — Citium Zeno_

 

 

**MARCH 2019 - YEAR SIX OF THE KAIJU WAR**

 

“The port side is completely wrecked,” Bressie says, loud enough to be heard over the noises in the hanger -- the soldering and sawing and drilling and shouting. He keeps his eyes on his tablet, the blueprint of Crimson Juggernaut there, a 3D rendering of the external damage. Not that Niall needs it. He can look up, and there she is, locked into the bay, pitiful as shit.

The catwalks around her are empty. The crew did diagnostics earlier, they’ve moved on to the other Jaegers in the hanger.

“Conn-Pod fused to the body when the port reactors blew,” Niall says, leaning on the railing. Used to scare him shitless being 60 meters off the ground, but he’s been a J-Tech for the better part of six years, and it doesn’t faze him like it used to. This, though, _this_ fazes him. “Can’t pry it out.”

It’s not obvious from the front, but Niall was down in there. The hydraulics responsible for boosting the Pod up and out were a mess of melted metal. They’re going to have to saw in and rip it up to get the pieces apart.

“Weren’t expecting to,” Bressie says, almost offhandedly, adjusting his glasses. Niall gets a ridiculous sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He chews on his lip as Bressie adds, “the starboard side is almost completely intact.”

Bressie’s fingers slide across the screen. The mini Crimson Juggernaut twirls to show him the right hemisphere of the Conn-Pod. The diagnosis shows the majority of the electronics still respond to circuit tests -- all lit up green -- anything that wasn’t connected across the pit still functions well enough.

Everything except the feedback cradle, which is pulled out of the panelling towards the gaping hole in the Pod, metal joints hyperextended. Niall hates that he knows why -- gets a flash of two pilots, hands clasped together tightly, literally torn apart by a Category III Kaiju after it ripped open the hull like it knew that’s where the pilots were.

Not that he wanted to see it, but… when a Jaeger is online, all activity inside the Conn-Pod is recorded and streamed to Mission Control for monitoring. Crimson Juggernaut’s footage leaked. The video ran on a loop enough times that Niall couldn’t avoid it. It was all anyone talked about for weeks afterwards.

If he’s being honest, Niall doesn’t know how to look at this clinically. There’s been a tight, hot feeling behind his eyes since Crimson Juggernaut came into the garage -- flown in overnight, sat in the harbor until they opened their doors; long enough for tourists to stop by and get pictures of her, torn open and exposed in the worst way.

She’s all over Twitter and what-not, and Niall feels like he needs to apologize to someone, but he doesn’t know who, or why. It wasn’t his job to make sure she got in when she needed to, but it should have been someone’s job.

Clinical, Niall reminds himself, teeth biting into his lip harder --

Despite the gruesome damage, there’s some solid machinery in there that they can pull out. Stilts, panelling, weapons controls, HUD projectors, power cells. They could rebuild her, if they wanted -- bring Laura in and have her sketch out a new hull, chuck the debris out and start again.

It doesn’t really feel right, either way. Like maybe they should lay her to rest or something. Put her out in a boat, Viking style, send her drifting in the ocean.

Ha, driftin’ --

“What’re we doin’ with her?” Niall asks. The material used to construct Juggernaut is top notch, best of the best shit -- not to mention worth a pretty penny. Outer hull constructed with thick iron, detailed in chrome. She’s all sharp lines -- graceful, but built for brawling.

He only ever saw video footage of her when she was deployed, never in person, but it was a fucking sight even on a TV screen. Couldn’t ever bring himself to watch her last battle, though. After accidentally seeing the Pod footage, that kind of thing felt disrespectful.

“Dunno yet, chief,” Bressie admits, big hand ruffling through Niall’s hair. Niall laughs and bats him away, feeling some of the pressure come off his chest. Bressie’s good at stuff like that, knowing when Niall needs to be kept out of his own head.

“Don’t wanna strip her down,” Niall admits, slowly. “She’s full of good parts, but it doesn’t seem like the right thing to do.”

“I know what you mean,” Bressie sighs. He’s looking at the tablet, messing about with the schematics like that’ll give him an idea. Could do, if he thinks hard enough. Niall echoes his sigh and scrubs a hand across his face.

“There’s been a bloke on the observation deck for two hours,” he says, after a long pause, watching sparks fly from where different crews are working on their Jaegers. The hanger’s half-full right now, ‘bout a dozen or so. They’ll have a full house soon enough -- Niall helped the others clear out the bays all day for something to do with his hands.

Bressie looks at him, eyebrows raised.

“Think that’s the Ranger,” Bressie says. The corners of his mouth tug down in that way they do when he’s upset about something.

“Shit,” Niall says, eyes darting up to the deck. It’s too dark to really make out who’s up there. Just a silhouette back lit by standby lights. “Malik?”

“Yup,” Bressie says, following his gaze. He powers down the tablet and slides it into the pocket of his coveralls before pushing his glasses up again. Niall’s almost positive they weren’t falling down at all. “You goin’?”

“What, kick ‘im out?” Niall asks, incredulously.

“Shop’s closed, kid,” Bressie says, jerking his head in the direction of the deck. “Gotta follow the rules.”

“ _We’re_ here,” Niall says, grumpily, but he’s already making his way across the catwalk towards the stairs.

Closing the observation deck at night is a fairly new rule. Used to be that anyone could come and go if they wanted to, but that led to too many civilians and Rangers trying to take peeks at the Jaegers and getting underfoot.

Now the whole area’s closed to everyone except crews after eight at night, and doesn’t open until after breakfast in the morning. There’s been a noticeable improvement in bystanders, but it doesn’t make having to kick people out _fun_.

Niall scrubs his hand over his face and takes the stairs two at a time, fall of his heavy boots barely audible over the noises the crews are making. He ducks a spray of sparks coming from the nearest bay and flips off Sandy, the J-Tech perched on top of the Mark III closest to the stairs. Sandy laughs loudly, noise caught up in the high whirring of his saw.

The access door to the observation deck slides open with a soft wheeze when he presses his palm to the hand scanner to unlock it. Cold, recycled air hits him in the lungs as he enters the hallway, and he inhales deeply, greedy for it.

There’s no such thing as central air in any garage -- true for cars on land and giant ass-kicking robots at sea. The bay has a retractable roof that opens up towards Polaris anytime the Jaegers are being worked on, but it makes the air sticky and heavy with humidity, stepping indoors is heavenly in comparison.

The door to the observation deck is ajar, so Niall presses it open with his fingertips. The lock pad doesn’t look hacked. Maybe Malik has clearance.

Well, presuming this is Malik.

“Hey, mate, we’re closed,” Niall says, clearing his throat. The bloke jerks around in surprise, eyes widening wildly. It’s definitely Malik; Niall recognizes him from the news. Even with his cheekbones sharper than normal and bags under his eyes, he’s more gorgeous than the telly makes him out to be.

“I’m sorry,” Malik says, right hand dragging through his hair, tousling it about. It’s not regulation, grown out too much on top, curling sweetly, free of product. The sides are shaved down, but it’s an undercut, not a -- what’s it -- high and tight.

It reminds Niall that Malik wasn’t a soldier before he started piloting Crimson Juggernaut. Scientist -- or researcher, or summat -- on one of the earliest teams working on Jaeger technology. Got plucked up before even finishing uni. Bit young, bit of a prodigy.

Now he’s stood in Niall’s observation deck, looking too small in a pullover and sweats, left sleeve of his hoodie tied up at the shoulder, making the absence of the arm he lost in Juggernaut’s last battle far too noticeable.

Niall wonders if Malik thinks it’s worth it, the honor and glory, if it’s worth it for this -- after hours on an observation deck thinking who-knows-what about things that have happened in the past. Niall knows he’ll never ask, but that doesn’t mean he’s not curious.

“S’alright,” Niall says, with a shrug, trying not to stare. Missing limbs aren’t new, especially not to Niall. “She’s yours, right?”

The wince on Malik’ face is plain as day, and Niall regrets saying it so bluntly.

“Yeah, she was,” Malik says, hand disappearing into the pocket of his hoodie. He looks small. Niall wants to offer him a hot beverage or something, something to make him feel better, at least.

Silence stretches between them awkwardly.

For some reason, Niall wants to tell Malik he understands. He knows how important Jaegers are to pilots, anyway. He’s never been in the driver’s seat, not yet at least, but he’s seen enough come and go that he gets it.

That’s probably why he says it, even though there’s no reason to, and he doesn’t actually have the authority to make the call.

“You can come back and see her whenever you like.” Niall shifts his weight nervously, but meets Malik’s eyes with conviction, so Malik knows he’s being serious. They’re really pretty eyes, if Niall’s being honest. “If you want to.”

“I… yeah?” Malik asks, with a shrug. “That would be nice. I’d like that.”

“I dunno what we’re doin’ with her,” Niall admits, so that Malik knows there’s a possibility that he’ll come in to see her and she’ll be in bits. “We might rebuild her, but we might repurpose her parts.”

“‘Repurpose her parts’,” Malik echoes, ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Nice way of putting it.”

“Better’n other ways of putting it,” Niall says, apologetically, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coveralls. He gets the feeling he’s shoving his foot in his mouth here, but Malik’s still looking at him good-naturedly.

“Probably,” Malik agrees, easily. There’s a wistful look on his face when he turns back towards Juggernaut.

“I gotta lock up,” Niall reminds him, gently, thrusting his thumb back towards the door that’s still ajar. “But you can come back later, yeah?”

“Okay,” Malik says, taking a deep breath before he shoots Niall a smile. It doesn’t look forced. “Thanks, uh…”

“Niall Horan,” Niall says, sticking his hand out automatically, thankful that he washed with the orange soap before he met Bressie up on the catwalk. There’s still grease under his nails, but it’s not caking his palms and forearms like it usually is. “Call me Niall.”

J-Techs don’t usually go by their last names like Rangers and officers and whatnot do, but he’s not a J-Tech for long, and who knows, he might see Malik around.

“Zayn Malik,” Malik says, even though he knows Niall knows who he is. “Call me Zayn.”

“Alright, Zayn,” Niall says, with a grin. When they shake, Zayn’s hand is dry and calloused, and his grip is strong. There’s a spark at the top of Niall’s spine when they touch, and he barely keeps himself from snatching his hand back.

There's a curious look on Zayn’s face, but neither of them comment on it. In fact, they don’t say anything as Niall’s locking up, and when they do, it’s so Niall can tell Zayn which way to turn to get back to the living quarters.

“Took y’ long enough,” Bressie comments, when Niall’s back on the catwalk in front of Crimson Juggernaut. He’s half stripped out of his coveralls, sat on the floor as he flicks through his tablet lazily. It looks like he’s watching cat videos.

“That was like five minutes,” Niall scoffs. He kicks at Bressie’s thigh until Bressie reaches his arm up for Niall to ‘help’ him stand. Helping involves leaning back on both his heels and yanking, hoping Bressie doesn’t let him fall. “It was Malik.”

“Told you,” Bressie says, dusting off his bum as they walk towards the locker rooms. Niall shoves his hands in his pockets and looks over his shoulder at the dark observation deck, chewing his lip.

He thinks about telling Bressie how it felt when he shook Zayn’s hand, but thinks better of it. It could have been anything --

“Ready for tonight, chief?” Bressie asks, as they turn in their diagnostic tablets and head towards the cubbies that line the wall to grab their rucksacks.

“Hell yeah!” Niall shouts. All thoughts of Zayn and Crimson Juggernaut get shoved to the back of Niall’s mind as he jumps on Bressie’s back, giggling wildly and clinging to his shoulders like a spidermonkey.

They head to the living quarters like that, with Niall on Bressie’s back and Bressie shouldering both their bags. He gets dropped off at his room -- a tiny concrete thing with a bed, desk, and dresser shoved inside -- braving the communal showers for a quick rinse. Turns out, it’s practically empty -- late Friday night, most people are out or in commons or crashed in their own rooms.

He towels off his hair and pulls on a nice shirt before grabbing a coat and heading down towards the main entrance. The messaging app on his watch dings impatiently -- the whole crew’s waiting for Niall in civilian clothes when he finally meets them at the gates leading off base. They’re all stood in a huddle, two Ubers waiting, chatting shit, shoving each other around.

Niall takes a moment to watch them, smiling.

This time Monday, the amount of people living and working in the Shatterdome is going to double. They’re expecting to get at least 10 more Jaegers transferred from other Shatterdomes. Which means more pilots and more crews; more J-Techs of all flavors. There will be more researchers, more K-Scientists, more Psych Anaylsts -- the increase in non-combat personnel is going to take some getting used to.

There’s already been more and more people coming around. Most crews are staying off base until the living arrangements get sorted out, and everything’s prepped for them. Niall’s been sticking close to the hanger, but the rise in activity is noticeable no matter what.

Which is why they’re getting drunk. Not to, like, mourn the addition of new crews, or anything. People tend to gravitate to Niall and his friends -- it’s that friendly, Irish thing they’ve got going for them -- so they’re celebrating the old crew before they pick up new people. Besides, there’s no telling when they’ll stop being busy long enough to get extraordinarily pissed again.

“Oh, finally!” Eoghan yells, as he sees Niall coming. Niall shrugs at him, smiling loosely.

“At least I don’t smell like an engine,” Niall says, letting himself be pulled in for a hug. He ping pongs to Laura, Bressie, and the rest of the group when Eoghan lets go of him.

“You always smell like an engine,” Laura says, once the hugs are over, ruffling her hands through his hair. He bats her away and attempts to fix it, product leaving a sticky residue on his fingers that he has to wipe on the hem of his coat. Niall flicks her ear.

“Take it back,” he says, letting himself be tugged into the nearest Uber. It’s a big SUV with decent seat sizes, but he still ends up in the very back middle seat between Bressie and Eoghan.

“Never,” Laura hisses, before she’s tapping at her phone and bringing up the camera, angling it towards them for a selfie. Niall leans into Bressie and grins. It’s a tight fit, but it works out.

To be fair, it probably would have made sense to put Bressie up front, or in one of the second row captain’s chairs where Deo and Laura are sat. Not that Niall’s complaining, he likes sitting next to Bressie. Bressie probably likes sitting next to Niall, too.

“Oi, how’d the chat with the Ranger go?” Bressie asks, as the Uber pulls away from the gate.

“What Ranger?” Eoghan asks, as Niall shrugs.

“Good.”

“Good, what good?” Laura asks, turning in her seat and leaning through the gap. “Who, what, when.”

“God, shut up,” Niall giggles, shoving his palm in her face so she’ll get out of his space. “It was Ranger Malik.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Deo says, whipping around, staring at Niall, too. “Was he there for Crimson Juggernaut?”

“Yeah,” Niall answers, feeling his mouth go tight. He leans into Bressie a little more, stomach twisting. “That was probably hard as fuck to see.”

“Easier in person than on Twitter.” Eoghan shoves his phone under Niall’s nose. Sure enough, the photos from this morning are everywhere. She looks even more pitiful in the grey light of dawn, stood outside of the Shatterdome’s blast doors. “Trended for a couple o’ hours.”

“Who was supposed to bring ‘er in?” Niall asks, chewing his thumbnail, thinking about how empty Zayn’s eyes were, how small he looked in his baggy clothing. How he was one half of one of the world’s most effective Jaeger pilot team, and now he’s… not. “There’s no way Marshal Cowell would have approved the drop off without someone being there.”

“I doubt he did,” Bressie says, shrugging. His big arm settles over Niall’s shoulders, grounding him. It’s getting hot under Niall’s coat, but he doesn’t make a move to push Bressie away. For some reason, he feels like he needs the comfort. “What do us J-Techs know about all that anyway? We’re just the grease monkeys.”

“Monkeys! Monkeys!” Deo and Eoghan chant, thrusting their fists in the air. The Uber driver gives them a bemused look in the rearview mirror.

“Not for long,” Laura says, after they’ve quieted, eyes on Niall.

“Aw, little Nialler’s all grown up,” Bressie says, ruffling Niall’s hair. Niall wiggles out from under Bressie’s arm to punch his shoulder a few times.

“Shut your face, you know you’ll miss me,” Niall says, feeling his gut twist like maybe he doesn’t want anything to do with what’s happening Monday after all.

Working on Jaegers is easy. He’s been doing it since he was 17. Monday, everything changes. Monday, the Drift Initiative starts.

Monday, Niall becomes the centerpiece of a psych project that’s attempting to test the boundaries and limits of Drifting. The girls down in the K-Science Lab tried to explain to him the numbers and all the goals, but it was long and convoluted; he figured he’d learn when D-Day (Drift Day) came around. Which is Monday.

Monday everyone finds out that, instead of disappearing for over half a year to upgrade the tech in his leg, he did that and attended the Jaeger Academy to become a Ranger.

It’s stupid that’s he’s nervous about it. Everyone close to him already knows. Everyone else in the Shatterdome doesn’t actually matter. The only problem is that he can’t shake the feeling of not knowing what’s going to happen next, and that’s what’s fucking him up.

It’s weird. He doesn’t like it.

“Where’d you go?” Bressie asks, nudging Niall's shoulder. They've pulled up to the club now, and Niall ignores him in favor of queuing up with Laura.

Once both carloads of people have settled as much as they can, Bressie levels Niall with a _look_.

“Thinkin’ about next week,” Niall admits, voice dropping low so no one else hears him except for Bressie and Eoghan stood next to him.

“Well, stop that,” Bressie orders, slinging an arm around Niall’s shoulders and tugging him along as the line starts to move.

They’re at Main Entrance tonight. One of those clubs you have to know someone to know where it’s at, too small and anonymous for most to be bothered with -- the only gay club within decent driving distance of the naval base. The Shatterdome might be dubbed ‘Los Angeles’, but even without traffic, it’s an hour outside of the city, and they can’t be arsed to go all that way for a proper four-and-a-half star club.

There seems to be more people than normal, but they’re not here an awful lot, so what does Niall know. All he knows is that gay clubs are his favorite -- there’s a high likelihood that he’ll pull, and if he doesn’t, then there’s dancing and being able to hang all over the whole crew without getting the stinkeye from people who call football ‘soccer’ and chew tobacco instead of smoke it.

“I’m getting laid tonight,” Niall announces. Why the fuck not. There's a buzzing under his skin that he needs to shake, might as well do something with it.

Bressie gives him a sideways smile that’s probably too fond for the declaration, and Eoghan whoops, hitting him on the shoulder.

“That’s definitely why we’re here and not some regular arse pub,” Deo says, with a grin, and Niall doesn’t even feel bad about it.

“Aren’t y’all the sweetest?” he drawls, in a Southern accent, making everyone laugh.

“Need it, after today,” Laura says, and that gets them started on Crimson Juggernaut again. Most of them were down inside her at some point today, got a good look. Now they’re sifting through the gossip, and something heavy and sour curls up in Niall’s gut.

He keeps thinking about Malik, about the connection Zayn has with his Jaeger and -- the thing about the Drift Initiative is that the _point_ of it all is to find Drift _teams_. Actual teams of people, three or more, who are all able to Drift with each other. To ensure that if a Ranger was down with an injury, or sick, or _dead_ , their copilot would have other opinions. That way, the Jaegers wouldn’t be out of commission for too long.

But more teammates means more connections, and more connections means more chances that he’ll end up like Zayn Malik, with that lost look in his eye, like he doesn’t know what to do without his copilot.

The thought reminds Niall of the tingling at the base his skull when their skin touched, wonders if it means anything past the obvious attraction he has to Malik’ face (it’s a very nice face). Sometimes Drift compatibility manifests in physical ways like _that_. A feeling that can’t be explained in any way other than a base connection of the psyche.

Psych theory from the Jaeger Academy starts rolling through his mind, and no, he doesn’t want to think about the energy theory behind Drift compatibility right now, fuck you very much.

If anyone notices he's distracted, they don't say anything. Niall lets Bressie be the one to guide him through the line. When they get to the club, Bressie buys him a shot and a drink, because he's perceptive like that -- something Niall can appreciate it.

When they toast, Eoghan says, “To the Niall Project!”

Everyone, except Niall, laughs outrageously.

“Get bent,” Niall says, toasting with them. There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he won’t admit it.

It doesn't take long for everyone to start wandering off, to the dance floor, to the DJ booth, to find someone to pull. Niall talks to anyone who'll listen, still caught up in his head a bit. It's no good to be this nervous. He's still got days to stew, he can't dwell the whole time.

“I need another shot,” Niall announces, when he snaps out of it.

Bressie’s talking to Deo about something, big body curved sharply as he leans on the table they’re at. It’s got four legs and looks stable, but the more Bressie drinks, the heavier he gets. They don’t need to break the table.

PPDC would pay for it, but breaking a table before Niall becomes the sole focus of a project of the magnitude of the DI wouldn’t make a good impression.

“Hey, stop bein’ a lump,” Niall says, swatting at him.

“Are you done thinkin’ then, chief?” Bressie asks, voice getting louder as a new song sends throbbing pulses of base through the speakers -- and the air, and the sticky floor under their feet; Niall can feel it in his left leg, through the wonky circuit on the right that makes his knee twinge like a guitar string.

“Probably not,” Niall says, with a bright laugh, stealing Bressie’s shot from under his arm before realizing that they got bottle service and Niall didn’t even notice.

Apparently, it’s gunna be one of _those_ nights.

Okay, so admittedly, Niall doesn’t stop thinking about Malik until he’s on shot number five and feeling better about himself than he did back in the garage -- than he has all day, if he’s being honest.

There’s a whole lot of alcohol and laughing and attempting to grind on everyone around him. He’s being clingy, he knows; harder to ignore the impending doom of Monday when he’s tipsy like this. They humor him, grabbing him around the waist and dancing until he's passed to the next person.

“I love you guys! You’re the best!” Niall’s into the happy-horny-glad-to-be-alive part of the evening, buzzing with shots and the pound of music around him. There's sweat at his hairline and the sticky remnants of tequila on his stomach from body shots. He’s leaning on someone -- oh, Deo!

Deo responds with a laugh and, “stop fuckin’ shouting in my ear, Nialler!”, pushing him away towards Bressie.

Niall has a better idea, veers off to patio instead, searching for fresh air and maybe someone to get a cigarette off of. Usually, he doesn’t smoke. He’s trying to be good. Being a Ranger is a hundred times more physically taxing than he anticipated, and smoking tends to be frowned upon when exercise is a daily requirement for a job.

“Hey, mate, can I bum a smoke?” Niall apparently decides to ask the very attractive bloke stood alone not too far from the door.

“I bummed this one,” the very attractive bloke answers, pulling a face at the cigarette. “I actually never smoke.” After a beat, he holds it out. “Would you like to share?”

“Sure!” Niall says, probably far too excited, grinning as he accepts the offered cigarette. He takes a drag, letting himself check out the bloke stood next to him.

He’s fit, for sure. Taller than Niall, slim and dressed in all black, a pair of legs a mile long and brown boots that look expensive, but are scuffed to hell. He’s got long hair, wavy, falling to his shoulders. The light’s too low to know the color of his eyes, but they’re wide, watching Niall curiously.

“Thanks,” Niall says, as he hands the smoke back. There’s a hot shock that runs through his fingertips when their skin brushes, but the bloke doesn’t flinch. Niall taps the metal mesh top of the table they’re at to disperse any static that’s clinging to him. Sometimes he drags his feet when he’s drunk. In the most literal sense. “I’m Niall, by the way.”

“I’m Harry,” is the answer. Harry grins and says, “Ireland?”

Niall snorts. “Got it in one,” he says, throwing his head back and laughing. The buzz from the shots is making him feel squirmy, veins humming under his skin. He wants to touch Harry again, but he keeps his hands to himself. “You?”

“Cheshire,” Harry says, with a grin. The way he watches Niall is intense, interested, like he couldn’t possibly want to look away. It feels like he knows exactly what Niall’s feeling. Harry passes him the cigarette back after a drag. Niall takes it gratefully, eager for something to do with his hands. “Long way from home, aren’t you?”

“Aren’t _you_?” Niall asks, with a chuckle, trying to get his footing back. He’s not used to feeling so out of sorts in the face of an attractive lad.

“Here for work,” Harry says, making the back of Niall’s brain itch with questions he should probably ask, but refuses to think about. No thoughts about work right now, no thank you. Standing near Harry is making him feel warm, electric; he’s not wasting that thinking about work.

“Same,” Niall says, with a little shrug. The cigarette is down to the filter now, so Niall puts it out and looks at Harry, grinning. It feels like he won’t be able to _stop_ grinning any time soon. “Fancy a dance, then?”

All Niall really wants is an excuse to get Harry closer.

“Thought you’d never ask, mate,” Harry says, low and honest, letting Niall tug him back into the bar by his wrist. Niall buys him a shot for splitting his smoke with Niall, and Harry grins at him when they toast, eyebrows wiggling.

“You’re something else,” Niall tells him, after they’ve downed their shots. Because he is. There’s a twist of excitement in Niall’s stomach that he doesn’t understand, but he _likes_ the way he feels like he’s going to fly apart around Harry.

Harry blinks cutely before laughing, big and bright, and all Niall can do is laugh along before he leads them in the direction of the dancefloor. Before they manage to get there, they’re intercepted by Bressie, who’s got Laura on his arm. Predictably, she needs to say hello, needs to hug for five minutes and leave a sticky, lip gloss kiss on Niall’s cheek. She gives Harry a hug and pinches his bum.

“Got a hot one, Horan!” Lauren yells, making Niall throw his head back and laugh. Harry looks well pleased.

“Ignore her,” Niall says, tugging Harry away when he thinks they can get away with it. Luckily, Laura’s distracted by the bar, and Bressie shoots Niall a wink before tailing after her. “And him.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says, with a small shrug, still smiling like he’s happy about it. Niall has the sudden though that he really wants to kiss Harry, and isn’t surprised at all.

“She’s not wrong, but I try not to be too forward,” Niall says. They’re closer to the dancefloor now, so it’s loud, air pounding with base. Niall has to lean in so Harry can hear, chests pressing together.

“Be as forward as you like,” Harry says, lips brushing Niall’s earlobe as he curves to Niall’s body. It’s innocent sure, but it still makes Niall dizzy, spine tightening with excitement, and what the _hell_ is Harry doing to him.

Niall squeezes Harry's wrist and grins at him, hoping it seems more confident than he feels. In truth, his knees feel a bit weak, and it’s not the faulty wiring in his left leg. Harry smiles back and jerks his head before lacing their fingers together and tugging Niall into the press of people.

The dance floor is compact, sweltering, but it’s easy to create space for themselves and have at it. Niall brings out his white boy moves, and Harry humors him, dancing as silly and as wildly as Niall does.

They dance for so long, Niall’s muscles start to get heavy, stomach sore from how much he’s giggling. They’ve managed to bust out some ‘80s dances and a waltz at one point, moving far too slowly for the song, but Harry was insistent, smiling pressing at his cheeks as he led Niall around the dancefloor.

Niall feels like he’s floating, like he doesn’t ever want to come down from whatever it is that has him so _up_. He hasn’t had a drink in the longest time, but he’s still buzzing, fingers tingling, and it’s all Harry -- Harry's bright green eyes, and his wide grin, and the way he can’t seem to stop touching Niall.

Eventually, there are hands on Niall’s waist, bringing him in close. Their hips meet and sway, and Niall grips the back of Harry's shirt tightly, hanging on while his head spins. His whole body feels lit up with how close he and Harry are, aware of every muscle and nerve and breath he takes.

Harry's hands are warm, sliding under Niall’s shirt to touch the lower part of his stomach, his hips. Niall feels like he’s going to explode, soft pets making his heart pound high in his throat. Harry's watching him with hooded eyes, but they’re soft and sweet, and Niall wants to eat him _whole_.

They kiss like that, mouths pressing together roughly. Niall’s clings to Harry, and thinks _fuck it_ \-- he has no idea what he’s doing and doesn’t care -- he can feel Harry grinning against his mouth and that’s _it_. That’s what does it.

Niall’s shoving through the crowd and dragging Harry back towards the bathroom right then. It’s empty, thank god. Niall tugs Harry into the back stall and shoves him against the divider, making the metal creak and shake. Oops.

The music is dulled in the bathroom, bass muffled through the walls. It’s easier to breathe without the crowd around them, easier to see the way Harry is biting his teeth into his smile, waiting. It’s brighter than Niall would like, but he hauls Harry in anyway and shoves their mouths together, hands sliding through Harry's curls.

They’re pressed together all along their fronts. Niall can feel Harry's fingers digging into the soft flesh at his hips, keeping him close. Niall grinds forward, making Harry groan, mouth going slack. Niall bites his bottom lip and tugs. The noise Harry makes sends a spark down Niall’s spine, and he wants Harry so badly, his _teeth ache_.

“Can I blow you?” Niall asks. His heart is racing a thousand miles a minute, filling his ears with white noise. He knows Harry is going to say yes, he can feel the affirmation in the air, but he waits until Harry catches his breath and nods at him.

Niall kisses Harry one more time, gives himself a minute to really look at Harry's pink cheeks and bruised mouth all glossy under the fluorescent lights.

“Fuck, you’re so fit,” Niall groans, diving in for another kiss as he undoes Harry's belt.

“I try,” Harry chuckles, before letting his head fall back against the stall door. The metal rattles and shakes again, and Niall laughs, bright and way too loud in the echo chamber of the bathroom.

Shock travels up his knees when Niall drops to the ground, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when Harry has his hand buried in Niall’s hair, hips nudging forward expectantly.

“Christ,” Niall exhales when he tugs Harry's cock out. It’s long and thick, hot under Niall’s palm. His mouth’s watering just looking at it. Niall presses Harry's hips into the stall door with one hand and holds him there while he licks up the shaft, slipping his mouth down Harry's cock. He feels the stretch in his jaw immediately and hums his satisfaction, dragging his thumb over the ridge of Harry's hipbone before he presses down into the soft divet of flesh next to it.

Harry's hips stutter forward like Niall found a sweet spot -- sensitive. Niall holds him still and glides his mouth down and back up, spit slicking the way, pushing his tongue up against the underside of Harry's shaft.

It’s hard to breathe like this, but Niall doesn’t stop, keeps moving until he can feel Harry's thighs start to shake under his hand, and then he wraps his fist around what bit of Harry's cock isn’t in his mouth and starts wanking Harry in time with his mouth.

Niall can’t keep his hands off his own cock, frantic feeling simmering under the surface of his skin -- he needs _more more more_ \-- and usually he would hold off, ask Harry to tug him off him while they kiss with Harry's taste heavy on their tongues, but he’s _aching_ to come, desperate for it.

The first touch of his hand on his own cock has Niall humming around Harry in relief. Harry gasps above him, fingers going tight in Niall’s hair.

It’s sloppy after that. Niall has barely any coordination, but somehow he manages. Harry's hips keep thrusting forward in tiny, aborted movements, and Harry's saying his name over and over, rough and needy. He groans loud and long when he comes, and the taste of him in Niall’s mouth makes Niall come with a grunt, spilling over his knuckles.

They use toilet paper to clean up, punch drunk off a good orgasm. Niall’s absolutely buzzing, still out of his mind with the way Harry's making him feel. The sound of Harry's giggle echoes around the bathroom, and Niall really wants to get his number, but he can’t stop pressing kisses against Harry's mouth, making Harry taste himself.

When they finally pull away, Harry's cheeks are a bit red, and it’s such a fucking turn on, the way he can’t stop smiling.

“How many people heard us?” Harry asks, eyes wide.

Niall laughs outright, presses his thumb to the pulse pounding away in Harry's throat, slotting into the soft skin under his ear. Niall wants to bite him all over, wants to get him on a bed and take him apart so fucking slowly, Harry loses his ability to speak.

The desire is so hot and hard and solid in his chest it winds Niall, and he has to shake himself out of it, blinking. Reminding himself that he just met Harry. That’s a little… much. Maybe.

“I’m sure they weren’t bothered,” Niall says, cheeky, keeping his voice steady as his head spins. Harry's still grinning at him, and Niall wonders if his cheeks hurt at all from how long he’s been smiling. Niall’s sure do.

“Wanna dance more?” Harry asks. He looks well-fucked, all flushed and heavy lidded, curls a mess from Niall pushing his hands through.

“Could do,” Niall says, checking his flies, then Harry’s, making sure they’re all tucked away. Harry bites his bottom lip and nudges his hips forward when Niall’s knuckles brush his crotch, but Niall laughs brightly and shakes his head. “Need time to recover.”

“I think we’ve got time,” Harry says, seriously, looking at his wrist like he’s checking a watch that’s not there.

“I think so too,” Niall admits, ducking his head when he smiles. It’s hard to handle the affection swelling in his chest when Harry dimples sweetly at him. Niall kisses Harry again, quick this time, and shoves the stall door open.

Harry stumbles back with a little, “hey”, cute and pouty, one hand fisted in the front of Niall’s shirt, tugging him along.

There’s a crowd in the bathroom, people smirking at them in the mirror, but Harry ignores them all, keeps his hands on Niall, steering them through the door and out into the hall. Niall slips his hand over the curve of Harry’s hip, the need to touch overwhelming.

They dive back into the crowd like they never left, but now Harry’s pulling him closer, mouthing along his neck as they dance. Niall can feel the heat of Harry’s tongue as he soothes over every bite, hands sliding under Niall’s shirt, short nails digging into the sweaty dip of Niall’s lower back.

The bass vibrates through the soles of Niall’s shoes -- his chest throbs with how hard his heart is pounding, how his whole body is buzzing. He spins, grinds back into Harry, forces their hips to sway in time. He can feel Harry half hard against the curve of his bum, large hands splayed low on Niall’s belly, keeping him close.

They’re both sweating and panting, and Niall feels sky high with Harry’s teeth tugging at his ear, lips pressing open mouth kisses to the back of his neck.

“I need water,” Harry croaks after a long, long time. Even in the low light of the dancefloor, Niall can see how flushed he is, sweat at his hairline. It’s probably not a good sign that Niall wants to lick him all over, doesn’t even find it disgusting.

“Water would be good,” Niall agrees, letting Harry thread their fingers together and lead him off the dancefloor.

The bar area’s packed when they get close, tight squeeze of bodies making their way back and forth. Niall balks at the edge of the crowd, not excited to make his way through. Harry sways back when Niall stops.

“Alright?” he asks. It’s easier to see over here, soft blue lights illuminating the bartop and the tables. His eyes are shining, the electric blue of the neon reflected in them. Niall feels like he’s tripped into a galaxy.

“Don’t like crowds,” Niall admits, mouth twisting apologetically. “Lots of people.”

“I’ll grab drinks,” Harry shouts, lips brushing Niall’s ear. “Wait here, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees, readily. He squeezes Harry’s wrist gratefully, feels it in his chest when Harry grins at him. Niall watches him disappear into the crowd, pulse fluttering, and Niall doesn’t get it -- why he’s feeling like this, but he likes it -- the heady rush of white noise in his ears, the way he can’t think properly around Harry.

There’s no way to keep track of Harry, but Niall sees flashes here and there, edging closer to the bar. That’s probably good enough, hopefully it won’t take too long.

Famous last words, apparently.

“Nialler!” Laura’s at his side, grinning wide, cheeks red like they get when she’s got a decent amount of drinks in her. “Lookin’ for you _everywhere_ , weren’t we?”

Bressie nods seriously, looming over her shoulder. He gets slumpy when he’s drunk, like he desperately wants to be closer to the ground. Must be terrifying to be that high up with his balanced hindered.

“I was busy,” Niall shouts, lets his smile get smug. Bressie laughs out loud, big and amused.

“Good on ye,” Bressie says, with a sideways shit-eating grin, accent thick like it gets when he’s just past buzzed and teetering into pissed. “We’re here to tell y’ the Ubers’re here, mate.”

“Oh, I --” Niall stands on his toes and looks through the crowd, trying to spot Harry, see if he’s close. If he can say goodbye -- get Harry’s number, something.

“Someone’s gunna nab ours if we don’t hurry,” Laura says, right up against his ear. Niall startles, eyes still on the bar.

“I know,” Niall says, stomach going sour when there aren’t any curls in sight. No way to pick Harry out of the crowd around the bar. “I wanted to get his number.”

“Might have to leave it,” Bressie says, frowning. He looks at his watch, then towards the nearest exit. Eoghan and Deo are there already, already got their coats on, slumped against each other like they’re proper pissed.

“Fuck,” Niall swears emphatically.

“Soz, chief” Bressie says, drifting closer, hand on Niall’s shoulder to tug him away. “Driver texted.”

“S’fine,” Niall lies. An unpleasant feeling lodges itself in Niall’s chest, and he’s not thinking about it -- it shouldn’t matter so much, it shouldn’t make his stomach feel like lead to leave Harry behind.

Niall lets Bressie lead him away from the table to get his coat, lets Eoghan shove him into the Uber onto Bressie’s lap, and tries to forget about it.

He's fidgety on the ride back to base, a weird tension running up his spine. All his skin feels like it's on too tight. He doesn't know if he's anxious about leaving Harry there, or something else, something --

“Be still with ye,” Bressie says lowly, hands tight on Niall's hips. Niall freezes, trying to remember if he was moving or if Bressie can sense how tightly wound he is. “Almost there.”

Bressie's hands soften on Niall sides, big thumb stroking over the bottom of Niall's ribcage. It's settling, in a weird way, keeps Niall from wiggling. His heart's still going, sharp staccatos behind his ribs, but he's not thinking about anything except for how Bressie's breathing behind him while the rest of the crew loudly and drunkenly discuss their night -- everything Niall missed.

Laura and Eoghan dancing, and Deo nearly socking some bloke at the bar, and Willie trying to pull some bird who was there with her girlfriend. Niall listens, something heavy and sickly curling up at the bottom of his gut. He feels small, stupid for moment -- for goin’ off with Harry, for missing it all. Their last night all together like this.

Panic’s nearly got him by the lungs by the time they're back at base. The Uber pulls away after he and Bressie tumble out, last of the crew. They move in a group until they hit the living quarters, breaking away to head to their own rooms, but Bressie sticks close, hand on Niall's back like he knows Niall needs it.

Does Niall need it? Shit, he doesn't know.

It doesn’t feel like he’s got a lick of alcohol in him when Bressie gets him to his room, but he’s buzzing anyway, properly shaking. Bressie’s hovering behind him at the door, and the room is so dark, claustrophobia creeping up on Niall for no reason at all. He still feels so frantic, doesn’t know what to do with himself.

It’s stupid, he knows it is. He’s not going away for good, he’s not disappearing, but… But, he spent the night with some stranger instead of the crew. Spent so much time worrying about what’s to come that he didn’t bother thinkin’ about what he’s leaving behind.

“Fuck,” he swears, fumbling for the lamp on his desk. It flicks on, illuminating the space in soft light. Bressie’s watching him -- he looks pissed, lids heavy and red, ruddy cheeks. “Shit.”

“What’s up, chief?” Bressie asks, stepping inside and knocking the door closed. It falls shut with a heavy _thud_ that makes Niall’s back tense.

“Nothing,” Niall says, quickly. He doesn’t -- he doesn’t want to make this a big deal. More of a big deal than it already is. He doesn’t need Bressie knowing…

Bressie’s close now, hand warm around Niall’s wrist, steadying him. The buzz under Niall’s skin gets worse from the touch, a steady shock, a thrum that vibrates higher than Niall’s pulse, and Niall lets out a noise suspiciously close to a whine.

They’ve touched before, since he came back from Ranger Academy, how did he not _notice_.

“Bressie.” Niall feels the way his face crumples, feeling stupidly young for how poorly he’s reacting. Like it’s finally registering that today was truly his last day with the crew... with Bressie.

“Hey now,” Bressie says, soft and slurred around the edges. When he tugs Niall in for a hug he smells like sweat and beer and cologne. “What’s this about, then?”

“I don’t know,” Niall says, truthfully, face feeling hot and tight like it does when he’s about to cry. He doesn’t, he refuses to, but the pressure’s all in his chest, aching to be released. “It’s stupid.”

“Can’t be,” Bressie says, fingers tucking under Niall’s chin to make eye contact. “What is it?”

“Just, scared,” Niall says, watching the light soften Bressie’s face, smooth him out, make him glow. It feels like he’s losing something in this moment, maybe something he didn’t know he had. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the sad look on Bressie’s face.

“It’ll be alright,” Bressie says, ruffling a hand through Niall’s hair. It doesn’t make the ache in his chest lighten up. If anything, it makes it worse. “You’re goin’ on to great things, lad.”

“‘Great things’,” Niall says, with a giggle. They stare at each other for a moment, and Niall doesn’t know what to do next, doesn’t think he can do anything now. He exhales, slumping onto the bed. “Shit, I’m so scared, Bres.”

Bressie sits next to him, close enough that Niall can lean against him, soak up all his warmth.

“You’ll figure it out,” Bressie says, slow and steady, like he’s gotta think about it. “You’ve been fine up ‘til now.”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees, quietly. He’s been fine up until this moment. Got his leg fixed up, went off to Ranger Academy, and didn’t think twice about it. He’s been back for a month, knew being in the bays with the Jaegers again was going to be short lived. “Didn’t think about it before.”

“You did,” Bressie says, with more confidence than Niall thinks he’s got a right to. Always acting like he knows Niall best. “Don’t think you’re really scared. Maybe you want t’ be scared, ‘cause it would give you a way out.”

“Why would I want a way out?” Niall asks, falling back on the bed, staring at the slate grey of his ceiling. His eyes are still hot, but not as tight, definitely no crying tonight. Not ‘til he’s alone at least. If he’s good at anything, it’s grinning and bearing it.

“S’a lot of responsibility,” Bressie says, shrugging. He lies next to Niall, propped up on his elbow. His eyes are soft, knowing. Niall’s insides squirm in an all-too-familiar way. He’s not even thought about -- well, wasn’t more than a half-formed idea before he disappeared for half a year. Whatever was there doesn’t matter now, does it?

Niall swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “Gotta try to save the world.”

“Damn right,” Bressie says, before promptly falling on top of Niall and scooping him up in a hug. Niall presses his face into Bressie’s shoulder and clings to him. “If anyone can do it, it’s ye.”

“Shut up,” Niall says, but he doesn’t mean it at all. If anything, he wants to hear more, wants to be buoyed up so he doesn’t crash again -- fast, hard, confusing -- wants the moment to last for so much longer than it does.

When Bressie pulls away, Niall lets him go, more reluctant than he’s ever been. They stay close, in each other’s space, breathing each other in. Niall wants to fist his hands in Bressie’s shirt and insist he stay sat right there the whole night.

He doesn’t know why his heart’s aching all of a sudden, why his head’s such a mess. He thinks Bressie’s wrong, he thinks he’s scared as hell and can’t deal with it at all.

“Get some sleep, lad,” Bressie says, knocking their foreheads together and Niall --

Niall can’t help it, he presses forward and nudges their noses together, tilts his head so he can kiss Bressie properly. The shock of it works its way up Niall’s spine, suffocating.

It doesn’t feel fair -- his lips on Bressie’s with Harry’s bite marks on his neck -- doesn’t feel like he was supposed to do that at all -- like if he’d only stuck close to Bressie tonight, things would have been different, but he _didn't_.

It feels like he’s done something wrong -- but he keeps kissing Bressie, nips at his bottom lip and licks into his mouth. It’s slow and warm and syrupy, and Niall’s stomach is floating, flying, full of butterflies.

“Christ,” Bressie says, pulling away with a chuckle. His cheeks are red, but he meets Niall’s eyes steadily. He looks more amused than anything, and Niall flushes, embarrassed. “That was probably a bad idea.”

“Sorry,” Niall says, pulling back, drawing his knees up. There’s a quiet moment, so heavy it feels like it’s sat on Niall’s shoulders, pinning him down. Bressie’s watching him with kind eyes, and that feels terrible and good, all at once.

“I want ye,” Bressie says, so abruptly that Niall’s heart stalls in his chest. “But we’re goin’ separate ways for awhile.”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees, pressing his cheek to his knee. His eyes are hot again, so hot he has to close them against the wave of emotion. “S’a bad time.”

“Bad timing,” Bressie agrees, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. Niall thinks about kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him -- “S’all it is.”

“Sorry,” Niall says again, throat sticky with it. He nearly regrets it, feels like this is the closest to pity Bressie’ll ever feel for him.

 _Poor lad can’t make up his mind, can’t sort his emotions… couldn’t figure out what he wanted in time, spent too long_ not _thinking about it that he missed the chance completely._

“Don’t do that,” Bressie says, fingers under Niall’s chin so Niall has to look at him properly. “I’m not sorry.”

He kisses Niall again, slow and firm. When he pulls away, Niall’s dizzy.

“Tomorrow’s a new day,” Bressie says, getting up. Stood up, he takes up all the space in the room. For some reason, it doesn’t make Niall feel claustrophobic at all. Instead, it makes him feel safe. “Monday’s the start of the rest of your life, innit?”

“Won’t be so bad,” Bressie adds when Niall doesn’t say anything.

It’s nearly convincing enough that Niall believes him.

When they see each other the next morning, they don’t talk about. It’s like it never happened, everything shifting back into place, so normal that Niall could nearly convince himself it was a fever dream if he didn’t catch Bressie staring at him more than once.

Their eyes catch and they share a smile, small and knowing, and it hurts if he thinks about it too hard. Thinks about Bressie and missed chances and how pointless last night was, the lot of it. He knew it wasn’t going to accomplish anything, deep down he knew -- but he kissed Bressie anyway, let all those half-formed ideas fully form and bite him in the arse. Bad timing, _shit_.

And it’s worse if he thinks about his crew -- all piled in his bed, eating their hangover breakfast, loud and laughing. Doesn’t know when he’ll get this again. Doesn’t know _if_ he’ll get this again.

When he signed up for the war, he knew he was leaving it all behind -- family, friends -- he made that choice.

This choice might be harder, having to make it again, leaving his family behind again. Might not be permanent, but once he finds his group, that couple of people he’s going to Driftwith, things just won’t be the same.

All those connections, the vulnerability…

The Drift Initiative is going to change everything.

 

 

Monday rolls around with a palpable hum of anticipation in the air. Niall’s fucking nervous, up at the crack of dawn for no reason at all, nerves clinging to him like static. There’s still an hour before breakfast, so he takes a run around the Shatterdome to clear his head.

He spent the weekend feeling sorry for himself and lamenting his life choices, and now he’s done with that, needs to get his head on straight. Like Bressie said, today’s the first day of the rest of his life.

It might be early, but that doesn’t stop the hallways and gangways and catwalks and stairs from being full of bodies. There’s always so many people, but now there’s more. They started arriving Saturday night, shuttled up to the Shatterdome from whatever hotels they were staying at.

It’ll be even worse once everyone starts waking up for breakfast, but right now, there’s not enough to keep him from running. Definitely enough to have him weaving in and out of the crowd until he finally gives up and stumbles back to his living quarters for a shower.

When he's done, he pulls on a grey PPDC t-shirt and light joggers. No more overalls or canvas trousers for him. With sparring and training, loose fit clothing is important. Physical strain requires comfort like that.

The cafeteria is _packed_ when he gets there and joins the line. It’s overwhelming with so many unrecognizable faces, even in the big echoing room. He wonders where the rest of the J-crew is, if they’re up yet. It’d be nice to have Bressie or Deo around to settle his nerves.

The Shatterdome has been fairly quiet this summer, until Crimson Juggernaut arrived and now _this_. He always forgets _exactly_ how squeamish crowds make him until he’s in them.

Niall taps out a quick _brekkie???_ on his smartwatch and sends it to the others. They’ll respond if they're up.

It seems like there are more rows of fold out tables with plastic chairs shoved up against them than there usually are. Accommodating the masses, then. At least the horizon is clear, he can look right past all the heads and out the giant window that takes up the west wall -- nothing between the Shatterdome and the open ocean except buoys right now.

There are giant televisions hung from the ceiling facing all directions like a mall food court. News channels on mute, latest sports scores, and a couple of clocks that inform him it’s nearly 0730 hours -- which makes Niall’s stomach tangle unhappily. He’s trying not to think about it.

It takes forever to get through the line, but Deo messages him and tells him where they’re all sat -- closest to the main exit so they can make a break for it when the crowds leave the cafeteria. Niall collapses next to Eoghan gratefully.

“Oatmeal?” Eoghan sneers, over his fork full of pancakes. Niall watches him shove the whole lot of it into his mouth enviously. Niall’s stomach is rioting, he can’t even think about anything overly sweet right now.

“Leave ‘im be,” Bressie says, reaching over to rub Niall’s shoulder. Niall leans into the reassuring touch gratefully, heart barely hiccuping. At least they can still have this, the easy friendship. “Probably nervous as all fuckin’ hell.”

“Fuckin’ right I am,” Niall says, hunching in on himself. He figured the run would have kept him from getting the jitters, but the closer 0900 gets, the worse off he feels.

“It’ll be okay,” Laura says, leaning around Bressie with a serene smile on her face. “It’s just a bit of sparring, meeting new people --”

“Being the main research subject of a project that’s riding on your ability to be Drift Compat’ with with literally everyone.” Niall sighs and pokes at his oatmeal.

“Okay, you didn’t have to go there,” Laura says, wrinkling her nose. Niall gives her an unimpressed look, because he _knows_ , but his brain is definitely going there.

“It’ll be fine,” Deo says serenely. “At least you’re not Zayn Malik.” Deo tips his head towards the archway that leads from the main hall to the cafeteria, and Niall looks over -- about the same time as everyone else, too.

The hall goes still, a few voices lingering before they trail off completely. Zayn enters the hall, alone. He’s in the same outfit as Niall, short-sleeved so Niall can see the brand new left arm he’s got. The silicone is clear, not fleshy color yet, wiring and metal bits visible. Zayn keeps his head up, eyes straight, not looking around or acknowledging the heavy pause in the air.

The chatter picks up, but the tension in the hall is still evident. Niall hates it, feels it like a physical weight in the pit of his stomach. Before he even thinks about it, he’s pushing his chair back and jogging to where Zayn is in line.

“Zayn!” he calls. Zayn doesn’t turn. “Oi! Malik!”

Zayn turns then, eyes wide as they land on Niall. His face seems to soften with relief when he recognizes Niall, and Niall can’t help but smile at him, feeling the knot in his gut loosening up as Zayn smiles back.

“Thought I told you to call me Zayn,” he says, shoving his hands into the front pocket of his pullover. His voice is low, like he’s trying to keep quiet, and Niall gets why -- he can feel eyes on them, watching them.

“Tried that,” Niall says, with a shrug. “I just, uh, wanted to see if you wanted to sit with us.”

“Us?” Zayn asks, little frown between his eyebrows.

“Just me crew,” Niall says, gesturing backwards. “The table with the hulking beast of a man in coveralls.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows and looks past Niall, a flick of his eyes before they’re back on Niall’s face. “Alright,” he says.

“Come over when you’ve got your food,” Niall says, before any silent pauses can make things awkward. He’d stand in line with Zayn, but he’s starving and doesn’t really know what to say. “I’ll keep a seat for you.”

Zayn nods at him, and doesn’t laugh when Niall gives an awkward little wave. He makes his way back to the table, slumping into his seat as everyone stares at him.

“He’s going t’ sit with us,” Niall warns them. “Don’t be weird.”

“As if we could be weird,” Eoghan says, with a winning smile that isn’t convincing at all.

By the time Zayn makes it out of line, Deo and Laura have already cleared out, and Eoghan is about to go. Zayn doesn’t look around the rest of the cafeteria, or even the table as he sits across from Niall, shoulders hunched.

Their eyes catch after a minute, and Niall offers Zayn a smile, trying for reassuring. Zayn smiles back, tight at the corners. They eat in silence while Eoghan and Bressie talk lowly, subdued now. Niall doesn’t mind. His stomach is still a riot of nerves, and Zayn being so close is making him feel like his wires are crossed a bit. It’s good not to have the noise.

Zayn must not feel the same way. He keeps fidgeting with his food and his fingers, boots making noise against the floor. Niall nearly wants to kick him, but he supposes they don’t know each other like that.

“Alright?” Niall asks, as soon as Eoghan’s gone and took Bressie with him. The table is empty except for some Techs at the far end. Niall can sense how uncomfortable Zayn is, but he doesn’t know how to make it better.

“Yeah, just,” Zayn makes a face down at his breakfast, similar to the one Niall made earlier. “Lots of people. I’ve, uh, been away from everything. It’s busier than I’m used to.”

“Probably gunna get worse,” Niall says, with a sideways smile. He wants to do something daft like hook their ankles together under the table, reassure Zayn with that kind of touch -- help ground him, maybe. Niall doesn’t, though, they don’t know each other like that. Instead, he gestures to Zayn’s arm with his chin. “I like your digs.”

“Uh, thanks,” Zayn says, raising his eyebrows. On the table, the fingers of his left hand twitch.

Right, that might be rude.

“I got newly outfitted meself,” Niall says, shifting so he can stick his left leg out at Zayn and tug up the leg of his joggers. It’s not as noticeable, silicone all fleshy colored and whatnot, but there’s no hair and a distinguishable whir when he moves it from the goofy wire running up the right side. “Just a few months ago.”

“Oh,” Zayn says, face going softer with surprise, not quite as defensive. Niall likes that look, the curiosity instead of the suspicion. He reaches forward and prods at Niall’s leg. The pressure is distant; Niall wouldn’t notice it if he wasn’t watching Zayn poke him, but he can feel it a bit. “What happened?”

“Lower leg crushed in a garage accident a couple of years ago,” Niall says, rubbing at his knee reflexively. It doesn’t get sore anymore, but it’s a habit from being a teenager with a torn meniscus. “Bit o’ Jaeger fell on me. Had to get a full rebuild: patella, tibia, fibula, foot. All the muscles.”

“Jaeger tech?” Zayn asks, left arm flexing absently. Niall nods.

There’s great prosthetic application in all the technology that allows pilots to Drift -- scientists understand so much more about the nervous system and how it can relay commands to artificial limbs now. That’s the only reason he can feel the pressure from Zayn’s touch. The ‘skin’ doesn’t have sensation, but he knows when it’s gripped and moved, and that counts for something.

“Useful,” Zayn says, smiling at Niall.

“Ah, technology,” Niall agrees, smiling back.

They stare at each other for a beat, and Niall can feel his pulse jumping under his skin, mouth dry. Zayn’s eyes are bright in the morning light, skin smooth. He’s definitely _pretty_ in a way that not many people are. Niall won’t lie and say he’s not intrigued by Zayn. Maybe Zayn is too, if how he’s looking back is any indication.

The moment is absolutely ruined by the loud drag of chair legs across the floor, and plastic cafe trays clattering onto the table. Niall looks up and nearly chokes on his oatmeal.

“Lads,” Louis Tomlinson says, with a sharp smile, dropping into the space next to Zayn. Liam Payne looks far more apologetic as he takes the chair Eoghan was in. Niall blinks at him, and then loses all ability to think properly. Payne is… attractive.

“Tomlinson, Payne,” Zayn says, politely. His left arm disappears under the table, into his lap, and this time, Niall does nudge their feet together. In solidarity. The smile Zayn gives Niall in response seems grateful.

“Malik, and…” Tomlinson raises his eyebrows at Niall expectantly.

“Horan, Ranger Horan,” Niall says, tongue feeling thick. Tomlinson’s gaze is bright and expectant, and Niall’s palms feel sweaty for absolutely no reason. “Niall Horan.”

“Drift Initiative Niall Horan?” Payne asks, voice low and surprised. Zayn and Tomlinson both look at him sharply.

“Uhm, yes?” Niall asks, chuckling nervously. He’d love to know why they’re all staring at him like this.

“You’re the DI subject?”

“Yes,” Niall repeats, more sure this time. He can feel himself going red from the attention.

“No fucking _shit_ ,” Tomlinson says, sounding more excited than he should.

The lag in Niall’s brain is keeping him from answering properly -- Louis Tomlinson and Liam Payne know who he is? Louis Tomlinson and Liam Payne who pilot the Mark III Jaeger, Reckless Romeo, with three Kaiju kills under their belt since they left Jaeger Academy two years prior. While Niall was dealing with a crushed leg, they were becoming two of the most well known Rangers in the PPDC.

Almost as infamous and effective as… Well.

Niall looks at Zayn, who hasn’t said anything. The corners of his mouth are tugged down as he frowns at his breakfast. Niall carefully taps Zayn’s ankle again, not knowing what to do with the tension.

“You didn’t say,” Zayn says, quiet and low. Niall doesn’t have the chance to tell Zayn there hasn’t been _time_ to say, much less ask how Zayn knows what the DI even is -- Tomlinson is talking again, mostly to Payne, Niall thinks.

“Here I thought we were just going to meet a proper war hero, now Horan? Absolute legend.”

The scrape of Zayn’s chair on the tile floor is loud as he pushes away from the table and stands up abruptly. There are pink spots high on Zayn’s cheek, Niall notices, as Zayn tilts his chin proudly.

“I should go,” he says, meeting Niall’s eyes and not sparing a glance at Tomlinson or Payne. Niall’s about to protest, but Zayn’s already walking away with stiff shoulders, leaving his breakfast behind.

Niall blinks rapidly at his retreating back, trying to figure out what the hell happened.

“‘War hero’?” Payne hisses, picking up Zayn’s abandoned bagel and tearing a chunk out of it to lob at Tomlinson’s head. “How much of a fucking arsehole can you be, Tommo?”

“A huge one apparently,” Tomlinson says, throwing the bagel back at Payne. It bounces off Payne’s head and into Niall’s oatmeal. Tomlinson’s mouth twists. “Sorry.”

“S’alright, wasn’t hungry,” Niall says, truthfully, pushing away his tray. The way Zayn left is making him feel anxious, but he doesn’t know Zayn, figures it’s best to leave him be. This morning got incredibly complicated far too quickly.

“I wasn’t trying to be a tit,” Tomlinson pouts. It’s not clear if he’s trying to convince Niall or himself, but Niall thinks it might be a bit of both.

“And yet,” Payne says, with a snicker, trailing off. “Just apologize.”

Tomlinson snorts derisively, shoving a hand through his hair. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Twat,” Payne says, but it sounds affectionate. They exchange a look and start eating then, like the matter is settled. Maybe it is.

After a minute, Payne looks up at Niall with a cautious smile. The honey brown of his gaze is warm, oddly soothing. When he speaks, it’s low and careful. “Excited?”

“About?” Niall asks, still too caught up in his head about Zayn. Seems to be a common occurrence these days. There’s something there, Niall’s not an idiot; something like… inexplicable magnetic attraction. Something cosmic.

“The Drift Initiative?” Payne asks, shoving another spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. “S’big deal, right?”

“Yeah, I --” Niall frowns. “Does everyone know about it, then?”

“Definitely do, mate,” Tomlinson answers, exchanging a look with Payne. He settles back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, shrugging casually. Niall hunches, wishing he could feel as relaxed as Louis looks. “Don’t worry about it, though. You’ll smash it.”

“I don’t know about that, but thanks,” Niall says, managing to laugh. The reassurance makes him feel warm all over. Niall’s not sure what to think of that; of either of them watching him expectantly, interested. Tomlinson looks pleased with himself, winking at Niall from across the table.

Niall flushes, looking down at his watch while Tomlinson turns back to Payne, a shadow of a smirk still on his lips, and Niall’s not thinking about that, nope.

There aren’t any texts or notifications -- the day exists inside a vacuum, apparently. It’s barely 0800 hours. Is it too early to find Doctor Degeneres? The DI is going to have its own training space, but he has to check in with the Psych Analysts first before they get started.

Niall sighs and pushes his hand through his hair, scanning the room for people he knows. By now, most people have come and gone. Military personnel are far too used to scarfing their food down; takes about five minutes to eat before they’re off.

There’s nothing to distract him. There’s not any point in sticking around, not with Payne and Tomlinson’s heads stuck together, and everyone else ran off.

“I have check in,” Niall says, feeling weird for interrupting, but it would be weirder if he left without saying anything. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Bye!” Payne says, beaming at Niall brightly as Tomlinson salutes him lazily, two fingers at his temple.

Dumping his tray, Niall heads out of the main exit, off towards his room first so he can change into fresh training gear and grab a bag. He washes his face to wake himself up and stares in the mirror, trying to think of a pep talk to give himself.

He looks fine. Fresh, all pink-cheeked and bright-eyed. Not too tired. His hair’s grown out from the blonde, softer now that he’s not bleaching it every few weeks. It’s darker than he thought it would be, makes him look too pale, but he’s nearly used to it now.

There’s a smudge of a bruise on his neck from Harry’s teeth, all faded to yellow and brown instead of red and purple like it was. He presses his thumb to it and tries not to think about the number he never got.

No use dwelling on it. Chatting someone up while being part of a Drift group isn’t the best idea, is it? Bad timing, and all that. There’s no reason to be going on about Harry or anything else. His mind’s chasing rabbits so he doesn’t have to think about walking into a Combat Room in front of who knows _how_ many potential candidates -- all vying for a chance to get inside his head --

He’s gotta stop thinkin’ about it.

“You’re gunna smash it,” Niall tells himself, echoing Tomlinson’s words earlier. A silly smile comes over his face, thinking about the wink Tomlinson gave him afterwards, and he feels marginally better. Not massively, but enough to get his arse moving.

The Shatterdome is sectioned off into work and living, labs and libraries, practice and practical. Niall’s given up trying to figure out which side of the Shatterdome is the _front_ ; he knows he can come and go either way, that’s what matters.

The west end of the Shatterdome faces the Pacific, one big door like a wide open mouth that the Jaegers can get lowered down and walk out instead of having to be airlifted.

The Jaeger Bay where the J-Techs work is where Niall spent most of his time. It’s always loud -- voices yelling, the steady whirr of saws, the buzz of soldering irons. Metal and iron, accidental canon discharges. The greasy, grimy, goodness of not having to be professional or presentable.

The elevator rides to the bottom of the Jaeger launch chamber, or right to the top of the Shatterdome, where the roof opens its gaping maw to the sky. The Jaegers that get airlifted in are always dropped in there and docked in one of the hangers. Helicopter landing pads are even higher up, like a princess tower or something, extended out, held up by steel beams, and accessible by slippery stairs or a large maintenance elevator.

The LOCCENT Mission Control looks out over the Jaeger Bay, the Bay itself, and the open water. The cafeteria off to the side, easy for the J-Crew to get to if they need it during crunched schedules and repairs.

Niall wanders away from that towards the east side, dodging the steady stream of people moving between wings. The east side is completely different from the west.

The middle bit transitions from big halls wide enough to let transport vehicles through -- the little flat bed carts that carry fuel and parts and whatever else -- to smaller halls that aren’t actually small.

The Shatterdome reminds Niall of like, mole tunnels or a rabbit warren. Bressie says it’s like a giant steel Hobbit hole, the nerd. After the middle bit are living quarters -- single dorms with a bed, a desk, a projector, a wardrobe, and enough floor space to do push ups on. There’s a toilet and a sink built right into a cabinet in the wall, but Niall doesn’t use that for anything more than a wee.

There are large, gender neutral bathrooms here and there. Lockers and showers and bathroom stalls. Took some getting used to, but it’s standard now. Like a family living in a big house. Except no one uses his toothpaste, and he always wears water shoes in the shower.

The east side of the Shatterdome contains all the offices and meeting rooms. There are game rooms and lounges and kitchenettes and gym rooms. A big ass library, computer labs. A wing or two for Psych Analysts, a floor or two for K-Scientists. There are Combat Rooms tucked away everywhere, west and east, upper and lower level.

There are still nooks and crannies Niall hasn’t explored. Cupboards and closets, entire floors that he hasn’t stepped foot in. Which is how he manages to get turned around a bit coming out of his room, attempting to find the way to Degeneres’ office. He’s only been there once, right after he came back from the Academy.

There should definitely be a map for this place.

The first lift’s crowded when it comes, and he lets it go, far too anxious to deal with so many people in close proximity. It takes nearly a minute for the next to come, but there’s only two other people when he gets in.

Niall tilts his head up to read the floor guide, scanning it for counseling -- Level 7 -- and hits the button. The doors slide shut, lift shuddering as it takes off, and Niall sighs, tipping his head back against the wall, feeling claustrophobic with no one around him.

The day’s just begun.

 

 

It’s nearly 0900 when he and Degeneres make their way the fourth level to find the Combat Room designated for the DI today. All they did was go over what was expected of him -- sparring, mostly, getting a feel for each and every person he was attempting compatibility with. There was a short list of Rangers picked out for him, all matched up with him based on his personal fighting style and psych profile.

There’s tension in every muscle of Niall’s body as he wills himself not to panic. It doesn’t matter that the DI is a massively important project, not only to the LA Shatterdome, but the entire Jaeger program. It doesn’t matter that he’s the lynchpin of the whole thing, the core driving force behind it.

It’s fine, he can do this.

When they step out of the lift, there’s already a crowd forming, people lingering in the hallways in loose groups, obviously waiting for them.

Niall feels himself flush as people start to turn and look. Rangers, technicians, civilians; in uniform and out. It’s a proper party. Degeneres plows on through, parting the crowd with that commanding air of hers as Niall trials behind, still focused on not panicking.

The Combat Room is a huge round room, high walls, racks of weaponry. This one is nicer than some of the others. No exposed, rusted piping running along the drywall. There’s a tall set of lockers pushed against the wall inside the entry arch, so he heads there to drop his bag, lets Degeneres wander to the middle of the room.

Niall keeps his back to the room as he takes some calming breaths, willing himself not to overreact. He’s done this before. Training was like this all the time. He’s putting too much pressure on himself. It’ll work out because it has to work it, because Niall’s going to _make_ it work out.

The chatter in the room starts to die out behind him, so Niall inhales deeply before turning --

And running into someone’s chest.

“Shit, sorry,” Niall says, reaching out with both hands to steady the bloke he ran into. When he looks up, he’s looking at wide green eyes and a face that’s far too familiar.

Harry’s no longer got those shoulder length curls. Instead, it’s cropped on the sides, short on top, slicked back into something presentable with gel and good fortune. His eyebrows are clear up his forehead when he recognizes Niall, mouth going soft in surprise.

“Harry?” Niall asks, unable to keep his voice from going high and confused. His stomach gives a funny swoop when Harry goes still. Niall drops his hands, unsure.

“Niall,” Harry blinks slowly, frowning. A little giggle escapes Niall, quiet but hysterical. The absurdity of this situation, honestly. Harry’s decked out in PPDC clothing -- top and joggers. There’s a Ranger emblem stitched into the shoulder of Harry’s grey t-shirt, exactly like Niall’s.

“Are you… watching?” Niall asks, tentatively.

“Candidate,” Harry says, tilting his head curiously. “You?”

Niall has a feeling Harry’s already guessed, but he humors the situation. “Subject.”

Harry grins then, something wide and sharp like a Cheshire cat, massively pleased with himself for no reason that Niall can place. “Oh good.”

“D’you think so?” Niall asks, genuinely curious. Half his mind recognizes that the room’s settled and surely people are waiting on him, but he wants to know Harry’s answer, so he waits.

“Definitely,” is all Harry says, but it’s good enough.

Niall turns with a grin and heads towards Degeneres, head ducked. The whole middle section of the floor is sunken in, three stairs or so down, matted for sparring.

People are pressing closer now, sat on the ledge and leaning against the walls. Zayn’s right by where Niall steps down at, slouched over, elbows on his knees, watching. To his right, Niall spots Tomlinson and Payne. Behind Degeneres, Lovato and Jonas are sat on the floor cross-legged. Niall thought they were stationed in Hong Kong right now, which means… they’re probably candidates.

“We’re not late, but you are early,” Degeneres says, eyeing the group of people over her clipboard. Her tone is sharp, no nonsense, but Niall knows all too well that she’s pretty much made of soft spots. “That’s what I like to see. Dedication, or whatever.”

“You told us 0900,” an unfamiliar lad says. He’s off to the side, so Niall has to twist to see him. He’s tall with a square jaw, light skin and brunette hair. His expression is open, curious; he doesn’t look hostile.

“I didn’t mean to,” Degeneres says, pulling a face at Niall like they’re conspiring. Niall laughs at her, feeling the tension around his spine loosen -- at least he has her on his side. There’s a scatter of laughter around the room.

Their audience. Right.

“Alright, so we all know what we’re here for?” Degeneres asks, slamming her clipboard down on her open palm with a _smack!_ that makes half the room jump.

“The Drift Initiative,” Zayn says, and meets his eyes. Everyone’s turned to look at Zayn expectantly, like they were waiting for an excuse. If he’s bothered, it doesn’t show. He keeps voice low as he looks at Niall, no accusation in his words. Niall offers him a small smile. Zayn returns it, shrugging and looking away.

“A project that will focus on assembling Drift Compatible teams of three or more people,” Degeneres agrees, and everyone’s attention moves to her. There’s a low murmur in the crowd, but not as much as there could be, considering what Tomlinson and Payne said earlier, coupled with the way gossip spreads around here.

“This isn’t a willy-nilly type of matching here,” she continues, steamrolling over the background noise. “All of you were specially picked for compatibility based on your psych profiles, Ranger scores, and online dating profiles.”

The whole room shifts uncomfortably, confused.

“I’m kidding about the dating profiles,” Degeneres says, raising her eyebrows. There’s a scatter of nervous laughter.

“So liking long walks on the beach won’t make me more likely to succeed here?” Louis asks, raising his hand cheekily. Next to him, Liam titters and elbows him in the ribs sharply. Louis collapses against him like an accordion, groaning and poking at Liam’s side obnoxiously.

“Well, that depends on how Niall feels about them,” Degeneres says, tipping her head towards Niall. He straightens up, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze on him. Even Liam and Louis stop messing about, looking at him. “Niall Horan, everyone.”

Niall waves.

Everyone waves back.

There’s a loud set of whoops from the back of the crowd. Niall spots Bressie’s big head hovering around the archway, looking over everyone else. The rest of the crew’s tucked in next to him, cheering along. When they wave, Niall shoots them a watery smile.

Degeneres waits for the room to settle before she continues. “Niall is the central subject of this group. He’s the ideal candidate. Easy going, easy to get along with, Drift Compatible with everyone, as far as we can tell.”

“How?” Zayn asks, standing and dusting off his pants. The whole room turns to look at him, all at once. That’s probably going to be a common occurrence, Niall thinks.

“Heavy psych analysis, data retrieval from practice Drifts during his time at the Jaeger Academy,” Degeneres answers. She wraps an arm around Niall and tugs him in with a grin. His cheeks are flaming hot at this point. “A shining pupil.”

“How many people has he successfully Drifted with, then?” an unknown girl asks. She has a serious face, pouty mouth, and a thick mane of blonde hair.

“I haven’t bridged inside of a Jaeger before,” Niall admits, wiping his damp palm on his trousers. Everyone looks at him incredulously. The crowd in the Combat Room starts chatter again, low and unsure.

“Don’t worry about it,” Degeneres say, sharp enough to shut everyone up. “That’s one of the last steps. First, we need to establish a team. Naturally, it’s every man, woman, or nonbinary person for themselves. Except Payne and Tomlinson, and Lovato and Jonas -- who are package deals.”

“Wait, we’re competing?” Harry asks curiously. Niall focuses on him instantly, and Harry meets his eyes, grinning in that knowing way of his. Niall smiles back before looking away, trying to ignore they way his spine goes tight and hot.

“Not exactly,” Degeneres says, tapping the clipboard to her chin. “But your goal is to relate to Niall on an individual level. He’s the primary focus.”

Liam raises his hand. Louis smacks it out of the air. Their hands bat at each other before Liam snatches Louis’ and laces their fingers together, holding him still..

“If we’re going to be a team, shouldn’t we all be DC?” he asks, arranging his and Louis’ fingers so their palms press together, oblivious to the way Niall’s watching them, some kind of pressure in his chest he can’t identify. “The lot of us.”

“It’s not that simple,” Degeneres says. “There are different ways that Drift compatibility expresses or manifests itself. Using one person as the launch point is easier than having more than one.”

Niall feels queasy, wired like he was Friday night -- nerves jumpy and weird. He's known the details, but now that they're here, now that it's time to begin the project, it seems more daunting. Seems like a lot of people sharing brain space. A lot of people to connect with.

“Alright, introductions!” Degeneres claps her hands, and everyone sitting on the steps stand. The crowd steps away from the edge of the sparring mat until it’s eight of them stood around Niall and Degeneres.

The lass he doesn’t know turns out to be Ellie Goulding, fresh out of the Academy, high scoring in everything from simulator scores to standardized testing, American. It makes Niall feel better that she hasn’t bridged inside of a Jaeger either.

Shawn Mendes is the dark haired bloke Niall didn’t know. He’s been a Ranger for longer, been bouncing around Drift partners until he decided to sign up for the DI preliminaries. Been in a Jaeger a couple of times.

Degeneres lets Niall look at their psych profiles while they talk. Mendes’ is one of those generic ones that means he Drifts with others easily. Close to Niall’s, actually. Niall makes a mental note of that, knows just by sifting through the papers and listening to them speak, each and every one of them will be easy to get along with.

Tomlinson, Payne, Lovato, Jonas, and Harry all have field experience. Harry less than others, but he’s Drifted with some heavy hitters. According to his profile, he’s Drift Compatible with loads of people. Spent some time in Hong Kong piloting whenever someone needed a partner -- essentially what the whole Initiative is about. Niall makes a note of that, and --

_Gender: [ ] Male [ ] Female [x] Nonbinary [ ] Other_

Niall makes a note of that, too, curious.

Neither Tomlinson and Payne haven’t ever Drifted with anyone else. They enrolled in the Academy together, signed up to copilot together. There’s a note on Tomlinson’s recruitment papers -- _LIAM PAYNE AND NO ONE ELSE!_

Niall grins to himself, but can’t help wondering what brought them here in the first place. They’ve been exclusive thus far. Opening that up to other people seems strange to him, but what does he know, truly?

When it’s Zayn’s turn, all he says is, “I’m Zayn.” There’s a beat as everyone waits for more, but it doesn’t come. Degeneres makes a face, like she wants to ask a question or make him say something else, but she doesn’t, lets them move on.

Lovato and Jonas go next. They Drifted with a couple other partners before settling on each other and started piloting Onyx Rage. They have a Category II takedown under their belt, and they have a quiet confidence that’s as intimidating as Tomlinson’s loud confidence.

When it’s Niall’s turn, he skips the part about signing on because he wanted enough money to send back to Bobby every week, skips the part about his leg, and settles on talking about getting pulled from the garage -- from a J-Technician to a Ranger all because of a promising psych profile that he submitted on a whim.

“Now here I am,” Niall shrugs, knowing he talked too quickly. The crowd of observers is shifting around, bored. It’s probably better if they got to the sparring bit.

“Here you are,” Tomlinson says, with one of those dragging gazes as Payne laughs brightly next to him and elbows him in the side.

“And here _we_ are,” Jonas says, amiably.

“Excellent,” Degeneres says, and walks from the center of the sparring mat to the side, clipboard behind her back. “Since that’s out of the way, we might as well get to the best bit.”

“The bit where we beat the shit out of each other?” Louis volunteers, as the whole room laughs.

“Yes, that bit,” Degeneres says, with a sharp nod. “Who’s first?”

Mendes is the first to step forward, much to Niall’s surprise.

“Staff okay?” he asks, wandering over to Niall and clapping him on the shoulder, bright and friendly. A warm feeling pulses down Niall’s spine, making him feel hot under Mendes’ gaze, and all he can do is nod.

Niall wonders if it’s going to be like this with everyone -- the touches, the energy. It’s like a feedback loop between them, he thinks, as he notices the pinkness of Mendes’ cheeks as he goes to fetch a staff.

The room starts chattering away, snippets of conversation while Niall starts to warm up, trying to get blood flowing into his muscles. This is the part that’s the easiest, Niall thinks. The physical aspect is simple. Offense and defense, attack and response.

Considering Niall’s Drift Compatible with everyone, there’s almost a premonitory aspect to these fights. He’s not the best fighter by any means, but he’s good enough, light on his feet. It’s easy to predict where people are going, stay a couple of steps ahead of them.

From the look of it, Niall’s pretty sure Tomlinson is itching for a turn. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Louis bouncing on his toes with Payne sat next to him, leg jiggling around nervously, picking up on Louis’ energy.

The tension in the room kicks up a notch as Mendes starts to warm up, hopping around on his toes like a boxer, twirling the staff in his hands. Niall watches the lean muscles of his arms flex and contract, and tries not to think about how all the candidates are stupidly attractive.

Niall stretches out a bit and checks his leg. There’s a nagging feeling at the corner of his mind, and he looks up to see Zayn watching him with curiosity, left hand flexing. Niall grins, feeling a bit silly. For some reason he really likes the fact that they have cyberkinetics in common. It only takes another second for Zayn to look up from Niall’s leg and meet Niall’s eyes, like he could feel Niall watching him. There’s a smile on his lips, so Niall figures it’s alright.

Behind him, Tomlinson and Payne are talking in low tones about the size difference between Niall and Mendes, the likelihood that Niall’s going to get dropped in no time at all.

“Lay off,” Niall hears Harry say. He keeps himself from turning around, but the hairs on the back of his neck are standing up.

“We’re just takin’ the piss, mate,” Tomlinson says. For some reason, Niall can imagine his face perfectly: mouth pressing into a thin line, eyes narrowing. “I think Niall’s gunna whoop.”

“Right,” Harry says, voice light but skeptical. Neither of them say anything else, and Niall’s attention focuses back on himself, the stretch in his muscles, Mendes watching him carefully from the other side of the mat.

Niall offers him a winning smile, which he gets in return. Mendes seems like a good bloke. Cheery, probably, if Niall’s reading him right. Easy-going, which is always a good thing.

Niall watches him shift into stance, feet shoulder-width apart, balance sinking into his hips, grip tightening on his staff. It’s easy for Niall to copy him, mirror him.

This is the thing about Drift compatibility, Niall thinks, as Mendes makes the first move and brings his staff down onto Niall’s. The force of the blow vibrates through his hands, and he pushes away, putting space between them.

The audience reacts with an _ooh_ and an _aah_.

Drift compatibility isn’t a science to Niall. Might be to other people, but to Niall it’s about reading people. Action-reaction. Mendes pivots, throws his weight into his left hip, and Niall pivots opposite.

All Niall has to do is watch Mendes’s body for signs that he’s going to move; the bunching of muscles at his shoulder that means he’s drawing his arm _back_ to jab forward, the sharp flex of his forearm as he flicks his wrist out quickly and tries to catch Niall off guard.

It doesn’t work. Neither of them manage to make contact, more defensive than anything, both of them only taking openings that are easy, obvious. There’s sweat pooling between Niall’s shoulder blades the longer they spar, arms going heavy from the _clat-clat-clat_ of wood hitting wood.

Every near-blow gets a gasp from the crowd, a cheer, a yell -- the reactions far more exciting than the way the spar meanders almost lazily.

 _Clat._ Niall thinks Mendes is gentle and expressive, spontaneous but not lacking foresight, secretly stubborn, probably a romantic. _Clat._ It’s slower than Niall expected it to be, calculating, like Mendes is trying to see what Niall’s made of as well. _Clat-clat-clat._ Like he’s drawing the same conclusions Niall is.

Degeneres calls it without either of them landing a blow. They’re breathing heavily, and Niall feels the sweat drip down his neck, but he’s not tired, it wasn’t taxing. Around them, the crowd hollers.

“What’s the refractory period, teach?” Tomlinson asks, slinging his arm in the air. There’s a hungry look on his face, like he wants to eat Niall whole. A shiver works its way up Niall’s spine unbidden.

“However long Niall needs,” Degeneres says, tipping her head towards Niall. Niall shrugs and accepts the water Mendes hands him, returning his smile easily. Mendes really is cute, thoughtful too.

“Gimme a mo’,” Niall says, dropping his staff so he can sip on the water. He’s not stupid enough to chug it and spar again, but he needs to catch his breath.

There isn’t any protest in his muscles, at least. They’re just the right amount of warmed up as he turns around and nods at Degeneres.

“Alright, Tomlinson, your turn. Get a staff.”

“Mind if we box?” Tomlinson asks, grabbing his bag up from next to Payne and digging around to pull out a couple rolls of tape. Payne takes them from him and walks over to Niall with a small smile.

“Sure,” Niall says. It’s not a huge surprise. Despite the fact that all Rangers are trained in a wide range of combat techniques, Tomlinson looks like a scrappy motherfucker who’d rather brawl than fence.

“Want me to…?” Payne asks, holding the tape out to Niall. Niall’s not great at wrapping his left hand, doesn’t box enough to be practiced, so he lets Payne have his hands.

“Sure,” he says.

They’re close enough that Niall can smell the soap Payne uses, something obnoxiously masculine like Axe. It smells surprisingly good on him. Payne’s warm this close, air between them crackling with bright energy, amplified by the adrenaline raging in Niall’s body. It’s thick, a layer of tension Niall wasn’t anticipating whatsoever. Niall watches Payne take his left hand, feeling stupidly dazed.

The wrap is done quickly and efficiently, nice and tight.

“Done this a lot?” Niall asks, distracting himself from Payne’s touch, the way his eyes flicker up to meet Niall’s, dark and curious.

“Boxed before the Jaeger Program,” Payne says, with a little smile, big hands squeezing Niall’s. Niall never feels small unless he’s next to Bressie, knows that he’s average height and build and he’s okay with that. But right now, he feels quite small, like he could tuck himself into Liam’s body without issue. It’s... weird. “We did a lot of weapons training, but boxing’s my favorite.”

Niall hums in response, feeling how warm his cheeks are and ignoring it.

Payne grins and knocks their knuckles together, laughing. “That’ll do, I think.”

“If you’re _quite_ finished,” Tomlinson says loudly, interrupting the moment, and Niall’s head jerks up, startled. The rest of the room is watching them, faces a mix of curiosity and amusement. The blush on Niall’s cheeks gets hotter as he jerks back and clears his throat.

“Thanks,” he tells Payne, as Payne steps away.

Tomlinson grabs at Payne’s arm when he’s back on the other side of the mat, smile sharp as he tugs Payne close. Niall watches the wicked gleam of his eye as he whispers something into Payne’s ear that makes Payne laugh, shockingly loud, and push Tomlinson away, eyes darting back to Niall before he sits.

Tomlinson's grinning at Niall in the next instant, like he’s somehow in on the joke. There’s a tight clench in Niall’s belly that he thinks _should_ be fear -- or at the very least, caution -- but it feels like excitement instead. The kind of anticipation that makes the tips of his fingers tingle and the back of his neck buzz.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Degeneres says.

A mouthguard comes flying towards him, and Niall snatches it out of the air without registering it, blinking. He slips it in, watching Tomlinson do the same. There’s that grin again, teeth protected by the blue laminated material. Niall takes a deep breath to steady himself and nods at Tomlinson.

They meet in the middle to bump knuckles and Niall shifts his weight backwards -- too slow -- Niall’s head snaps when Tomlinson lands the first hit to his jaw.

The room explodes in cheers, and Niall lets it all slide to the background, murmuring and clammering white noise in his ears.

“One,” Tomlinson says around the guard, smug as shit. The next hit he tries to land gets blocked by Niall’s forearm as he steps back, trying to adjust to how quickly Tomlinson wants to move.

There’s no room to breathe -- Tomlinson comes in hard and fast, lashing out with his knees and elbows -- Niall absorbs the hits, body automatically blocking, trying to read the way Tomlinson's body moves -- not as easy as reading Mendes but Niall’s brain is catching up. Tomlinson's coming quickly to wear Niall down, trying to keep him on the defensive.

Niall catches Tomlinson's hand the next time he swings and pushes his wrist in and back, knocking the inside of Tomlinson's elbow so it folds and Tomlinson has to twist to save his shoulder. Niall knocks him in the ribs sharply before releasing him and moving away.

“One,” Niall says.

Tomlinson lunges, shifting his hip forward -- Niall counters -- Tomlinson is faster than Niall expected, low center of gravity, good balance -- some of his swings go wild, not enough follow through -- Niall takes advantage, pressing in close and hitting Tomlinson in the ribs again. Same spot.

“Two,” Niall says, and Tomlinson ducks in and grabs Niall around the shoulder and pulls him in sloppily, smacking his elbow into the side of Niall’s neck.

“Two,” Tomlinson says, extracting himself, bouncing away on his toes. He’s grinning around the mouth guard, and Niall finds himself grinning back, muscles stinging and legs aching as he keeps moving.

Tomlinson comes at him with a knee, and Niall hip checks it, which is fucking ridiculous, but gets the job done. Tomlinson falls -- so does Niall, center of gravity too high to keep from knocking over. Recovering quicker than Niall, Tomlinson twists their legs together and throws his weight, rolling Niall onto his back.

He grabs both of Niall’s wrists in each of his hands, grip tight, and pins them next to his head -- Tomlinson's hips keeping Niall in place. All Niall can focus on is the ridiculous fucking stormy-sky blue of his eyes, cheeks a hectic red.

Tomlinson's chest is moving sharply, blinking quickly in surprise. Niall wonders if he can feel it too, the pressure in the air, tension cocooning them so tightly Niall can barely breathe; he can’t stop his gaze from dipping down curiously, sliding past that to the hollow of Tomlinson's throat where there’s sweat pooling.

They’re both frozen in place. Tomlinson’s hands spasm around Niall’s wrists, and Niall can feel his pulse thud where Tomlinson's holding him down, frantic and heavy on every third beat. Maybe Tomlinson can feel _that_ , too.

Tomlinson loosens his hold, eyes wide before he shakes it off, face sliding into something more playful and less stunned.

“Pinned ya,” Tomlinson says, barely audible around his mouth piece, but Niall can still tell his smile more a snarl than anything else.

Niall grunts and plants his foot so he can throw his weight proper, catching Tomlinson off guard and sending him flying -- Niall follows through and ends up on top of Tomlinson, not bothering to pin him down, hands smacking against the mat on either side of Tomlinson's head.

They look at each other for a long moment, tension palpable, growing thicker the longer they linger -- and, _fuck_ , Niall doesn't know if he wants to _bite_ Tomlinson's face or kiss it.

“Match,” Niall concedes, before he leaps up, shaking off the adrenaline. Behind him, Tomlinson gets up slower. Niall looks at the ground, the sweaty imprints of their bodies, droplets on the floor like splatter paint. It takes a minute to recalibrate, heart tripping in his chest.

The crowd around them is completely silent as Niall makes his way off the mat. There’s a towel in his locker, so he heads there immediately, yanking it out to wipe off his face and neck. Niall slips out his mouth guard and sets it in the towel, putting it on the locker shelf so he doesn’t forget to clean it later.

Behind his back, the room stirs, finally, a short cheer ringing out.

“It’s a bit cool seeing the differences, innit?” Payne asks, clearing his throat. The air snaps like a rubber band, and suddenly it’s clear of the lingering tension Tomlinson and Niall left. Everyone turns to Payne, and he ducks his head shyly.

Behind him, Tomlinson's already stripped off his shirt, dragging it across his forehead. Niall can’t keep his gaze from dragging down Louis’ torso -- catching on the tattoo under his collar and the two scars at the bottoms of his pecs -- watching the way his abs flex as he moves. When Niall looks up, their eyes meet, and Tomlinson smirks right before Niall’s eyes dart away. Right.

“Like how aggressive Tomlinson was compared to Mendes?” Harry asks lightly, and Niall watches Tomlinson's shoulders go tense. The corners of his mouth twist when he looks at Harry, unimpressed.

“It’s just sparring, mate,” Tomlinson says, shortly. There’s a leering look on his face when he continues, “Niall didn’t seem to have an issue with it _at all_.”

It looks like Harry's about to retort, turn it into a proper tiff, when Payne’s hand snaps back and smacks Tomlinson in the dick. Tomlinson crumples in half holding his hands in front of his crotch, and Harry's mouth slams shut, twitching in amusement.

“The fuck was that for?” Tomlinson snaps, Harry seemingly forgotten as he digs a thumb into the meat of Payne’s shoulder.

“Just shut the fuck up, Tommo,” Payne says, with a winning smile that’s all teasing. If Tomlinson was going to argue, it doesn’t show; instead, his eyes go all soft as he scowls playfully.

“Yes, dear,” he says, tickling a line up Payne’s neck, making Payne giggle.

The attitude shift is almost as abrupt as the first hit Tomlinson landed to Niall’s jaw, but the whole room seems relieved for it. Tomlinson doesn’t look at Niall again as he pulls on a shirt and settles down next to Payne, leaning against his side.

“Well, that’s settled,” Degeneres says, eyes darting between Harry and Tomlinson like she was worried they might go for each other’s throats. “There’s a welcome assembly in Hall B in a half hour, which you’re all expected to attend and not sleep during, so that’s all we’ll do today. Stop by the door and fill out the paper before you leave, please.”

“What’s the paper?” Zayn asks, standing and stretching.

“Psych evol,” Degeneres says, waving her hand. “You’ll fill one out at the end of each training to help track your brain’s reaction to what we do here.”

“What _are_ we doing here?” Jonas asks, hand going up. The others nod.

“This and that,” Degeneres says, cryptically. “First we’re forming a team, then we’re refining a team. If you’re still interested in pursuing the assignment, please meet again tomorrow at 0900 hours. Dismissed.”

It takes a bit for everyone to leave, crowd trickling out slowly while the rest of them gather up their things. A few people linger here and there. Tomlinson and Payne amass a small group of people quickly, get talked at excitedly.

Bressie and Laura make their way towards him, grinning widely. The rest of the crew seems to have disappeared.

“That was wicked!” Laura says, tugging Niall into a hug. He flushes, pleased, hugging her tightly. He knows he’s all sweaty, but she smells like the greasy inside of a Jaeger, so he figures they’re even.

“Did good, chief,” Bressie says, pulling Niall in when Laura releases him, squeezing him so tight his feet lift off the ground. “Proud of you, mate.”

“Shut up,” Niall says, squeezing back just as hard. He feels Bressie press a quick kiss to his temple. “Don’t get all soppy.”

“Too late,” Bressie says, and proceeds to fake cry all over him; loudly and obnoxiously, heavy and hunched over Niall, leaning on him. Niall stumbles, laughing loudly. “Little lad’s all grown up.”

“Our _baby_!” Laura agrees, throwing herself onto them both before dissolving into giggles.

“Menaces, the both of ye,” Niall says, wiggling until Bressie drops him. He stumbles when his feet hit the ground, shaking out his limbs. “Fuck, I’m gunna be sore.”

“More tomorrow, too,” Bressie says. “Only got through the two today. How long’s this process take, then?”

“Haven’t got a clue, have I?” Niall asks, with a shrug. “First time it’s happening.”

“I can’t believe you have to pick a team based on that,” Laura says, gesturing to the mats.

“Yeah, it’s weird,” Niall agrees.

Weirder that he’s getting an idea of _who_ people are while sparing them, maybe. That he can gauge the energy between him and these people like it’s a physical thing. That he’s drawn to very specific people in very specific ways. Weirder that it’s not actually weird at all, that he gets it -- he hasn’t really gotten it before now, before he felt it sparking between him and Louis as they boxed.

He doesn’t tell Laura that though, afraid she won’t get it. Bressie might get it, if the way he’s looking at Niall is any indication, but Niall doesn’t know, so he doesn’t say anything about it.

“I’ll catch up, I gotta grab my stuff,” he says instead, pushing them towards the hall. “Gotta debrief.”

“Alright, then,” Laura says, giving him a wave as Bressie tugs her along.

Jonas and Lovato are already gone. Mendes and Goulding are heading out, wrapped up in some conversation that has them both laughing. Tomlinson and Payne follow close behind, their audience moving along with them.

Niall passes Zayn as he heads to get his bag from by the lockers. Zayn slows, reaching out so that he grazes the soft inside of Niall’s elbow, trailing down Niall’s forearm, head ducking as he smiles. That tingling buzz from before inches up Niall’s arm, making his throat catch.

They pause next to each other, Zayn’s fingers lingering against Niall’s palm, and Niall breathes in for a beat, meets the dark curiosity of Zayn’s gaze.

“Bye,” he says, with a smile, squeezing Zayn’s hand in his.

“Bye bro,” Zayn says, with a sideways smile that makes Niall’s chest flutter. He definitely doesn’t turn to watch Zayn leave, but he considers it.

Aside from Degeneres, there’s only one person left in the Combat Room. Harry.

Harry’s lingering, Niall can tell, acting like the paper isn’t filled out even though it’s up against the wall and Niall can see that all the questions are answered. Butterflies fill Niall’s stomach as he goes to grab his bag, anything to keep his hands busy.

The mouth guard is sat on top of his bag, so he takes it to the water fountain to give it a rinse, pretending that he can’t hear Harry walking towards the heart of the room, steps light and unhurried. Niall pats the mouth guard dry and slips it into a side pocket of his own duffle before he turns.

Harry’s close, watching him.

“Hey,” he says, when it doesn’t seem like Harry's going to be the first to speak. There’s a blush on the apple of Harry’s cheeks, and eyes widening in surprise.

“Hey,” Harry laughs, sounding self-conscious. “That was quite a show.”

“Was it?” Niall asks, with a grin. “Was interesting, yeah. I didn’t expect everyone to come watch.”

“Probably should have expected that,” Harry replies, shrugging. “There’s nothing better to do.”

“Ah yes, the DI, bottom of the barrel entertainment,” Niall says, raising an eyebrow. Harry’s face does something complicated before it settles on vaguely embarrassed.

“I didn’t mean it like _that_ ,” Harry says. “It’s riveting.”

“Oh, I know it was,” Niall agrees. “Just takin’ the piss. You’re a bit easy.”

Harry’s mouth twitches “I am, aren’t I?”

“I didn’t mean it like _that_ ,” Niall says, feeling himself go flushed and pleased, teeth biting into his bottom lip. He thinks about their hips pressed together on the dance floor, slamming Harry into the bathroom stall, dropping to his knees --

“Either way,” Harry shrugs, grinning properly before sobering up. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

“Me either,” Niall admits, finds it easy to tell the truth, like maybe he already trusts Harry. It’s a strange feeling, not unwelcome. “It’s good though -- I, uh, wanted your number the other night, but I had to jet, so…”

“Second chances,” Harry says, softly, hand reaching up to tuck back a lock of hair that’s not there anymore. Niall’s helplessly endeared by the nervous gesture. He wants to take Harry’s hand, run his thumb over the thin skin of Harry’s wrists; he wants to kiss Harry again, press his lips to the fluttering pulse under Harry's ear.

“Exactly,” Niall says, spine feeling tight and hot and heavy with want. He hums, rooting around in his bag until he finds his watch. He brings up the contacts and thrusts it at Harry before he second guesses himself. “Can I have it, then?”

They’ve already touched each other’s pricks, they might as well get to know each other.

“I’m going to see you tomorrow,” Harry says with a sly smile, programming in the info.

“So, you’re coming back?” Niall asks, eyebrows raising. Harry makes a noise of affirmation, tapping Niall’s watch before handing it back. The watch on Harry’s wrist lights up with a message. Niall grins.

“‘Course,” Harry says, as Niall straps his watch on. “‘S why I’m here. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Didn’t want Tomlinson to scare you off,” Niall says, truthfully. There may not have been many words exchanged, but the tension was obvious.

“Nah,” Harry replies. “He was probably intimidated by my very obvious chemistry with you. Saw him watching us when you came in.”

“Oh, that’s it, is it?” Niall asks, unable to stop grinning, cheeks aching from it.

“Might be. Or he’s a prat.”

“I don’t think he is,” Niall admits. He really doesn’t. He thinks Tomlinson’s the type that takes time to warm up, is all. “Bit rough, but not a prat.”

“Alright,” Harry says, looking considerate. “Maybe I’ll give him a chance. For you.”

“I -- alright,” Niall says. Not like he’s going to argue, he wants them to get along. Just in case… just in case he picks both of them.

 _Just in case_. Like he doesn’t have his mind half made up already.

“So, uh,” Niall says, after a few seconds of standing there, smiling at each other like idiots. “Your papers…”

“Yeah?”

“Uh, you’re --” Niall doesn’t know how to ask this question, so he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “What’re your pronouns?”

Harry looks delighted. “Oh, I -- gender neutral, they.”

“Okay, cool,” Niall says, sighing, feeling his shoulders loosen up. Harry’s grinning like mad, now. “I had it wrong, before, I’m sorry. I saw you checked nonbinary -- I didn’t want to, like, think of you wrong.”

“Misgender me in your head?” Harry asks, still smiling.

“Yeah, that,” Niall agrees, heart fluttering when Harry reaches out and squeezes his wrist reassuredly.

“Well, now you know,” they say, sticking their tongue out at him.

“I do,” Niall says. “Can’t promise I’ll always get it right, but --”

“As long as you try,” Harry shrugs. “I’ll help you remember.”

“Please do,” Niall says, hurriedly. “Like, tell me if I say anything stupid, too. I don’t -- I’m not --”

“Well versed in the realm outside the binary?” Harry asks, wiggling their eyebrows. Niall giggles and nods, feeling himself go warm.

“You two will miss the Marshal’s welcome speech if you don’t hurry,” Degeneres yells across the room, waving at them with her hands full of psych evals. The rest of the room is empty, everyone’s left.

Niall laughs brightly, stepping away from Harry and effectively shattering whatever little bubble they were in -- standing so close to one another without Niall realizing it.

“Shall we?” Harry asks, offering Niall their arm. Niall presses a giggle into his shoulder and grabs his bag.

“Guess so,” Niall says, linking his arm with Harry’s, positively thrumming with how closely their sides press together.

Harry hums, watching Niall from the corner of their eye, and Niall knows they can feel it. Knows they don’t need to spar to figure out how intense their Drift compatibility is -- it’s all right here, between them already, in every touch and conversation and shared moment. Knows he’s going to pick Harry, no matter what, feels the inevitably between them.

He wonders if it’ll be like this with everyone he ends up choosing. If he’ll _know_ , or if it’ll be less instinctual. He doesn’t know which option he’s hoping for, in all honesty. If it’s too easy, he’ll question it every step of the way; if it’s too difficult, will it be worth it?

Hall B is a chaotic mess when they finally arrive. Jam packed with bodies, too warm and too loud. Niall tightens his grip on Harry without thinking, not wanting to have to shove his way through the crowd. It’s not even an issue; Harry leads them around the edge, finding a nice set of storage crates to climb on top of.

Niall wonders if it’s a coincidence, or if they remember what Niall said at the bar, about the crowds. The thought makes him giddy.

They sit at the edge of the crates, overlooking the room, waiting for Marshal Cowell. Next to him, Harry scoots closer and presses their thighs together, warm and steady. Niall deliberates for a long moment before tipping his head sideways onto Harry’s shoulder.

They both reach for each other’s hands at the same time, fingers tangling as Marshal Cowell steps up to the mic and welcomes the new arrivals.

 

 

It’s after midnight when Bressie finds Niall on the catwalk above Crimson Juggernaut’s head. He’s sat with his feet dangling over the edge, arms folded over the middle bar of the rail. Niall can feel Bressie coming up behind him easy as anything, knew Bressie’d come up before Niall even sat down.

That’s the kicker, innit? Out of all of this -- knowing he and Brez --

“What’s wrong with you then, chief?” Bressie asks, stopping next to him. The catwalk wobbles as he leans against the rail, and Niall blames the lurch in his stomach on that instead of anything else.

“Just thinkin’,” Niall says, looking at Juggernaut’s Conn-Pod -- through it, really, with it torn in half still. She’s been well gutted, but there’s still some cleaning up to do, sorting out parts. That’s where Niall was for the past couple of hours -- grease all up his arms, smeared on his coveralls -- so he wouldn’t have to think about everything buzzing in his head.

It’s not so easy to ignore, now.

“More’n that, innit?” Bressie asks. When Niall looks up at him, Bressie’s got a small smile on his face, arm stretched out. Niall sighs and lets himself be hauled up, stumbling into Bressie’s chest. They blink at each other, and Niall’s heart lurches.

“D’ya think --”

“No point in thinkin’ is there?” Bressie says, quickly. That smile’s still plastered on his face, but the corners seem tight. He puts a breath of space between them. Still hovering close, but not as.

“Fuck there’s not,” Niall says, with a snort, deciding to be stubborn. “You know we’d be good.”

Niall knows they’d be good, knows it from the way they orbit each other like binary stars; knows it from the way he tasted the metallic of cosmic dust when they kissed. Knows it in his bones, the way he knew the others, drawn to Bressie in the same way. Something ugly makes itself known in his chest, makes him want to sob.

Instead, he throws a punch.

It’s hard, meant to connect, but he knows -- he knows Bressie’ll do something about it. And Bressie does -- steps back and grabs Niall’s fist, tossing it back easily, hands coming up automatically as Niall steps closer and punches again. The catwalk creaks under them, barely audible over the saw going against the steel body of the Jaeger two bays away.

This time Bressie uses his palm, knocking Niall’s hand away. It’s jarring, when their forearms connect and Niall’s knocked off course. Niall doesn’t bother stopping -- takes another swing and another, stepping closer as Bressie moves back, making Bressie keep his guard up -- making the catwalk shake.

Bressie matches him strike for strike, lazy grin working it’s way onto his face. It catches Niall off guard. He falters and gets a smack to his cheek for it.

“One,” Bressie says, throwing a real punch that Niall dodges, then another that connects with Niall’s shoulder. “Two.”

“Fuck off,” Niall says, looking for an opening. Bressie swings wide and Niall moves close, tucking himself into Bressie’s body, lands two hits to Bressie’s ribs before Bressie spins him out and shoves him away.

“Alright,” Bressie says, catching Niall’s left fist when he swings, then his right when he swings again. His hands are big and warm, folded over Niall’s knuckles. “I get it.”

“Do ye?” Niall asks, pulling away petulantly. Bressie lets him go easily. He tugs his sleeve down to wipe the sweat off his forehead, over his eyes, not looking at Bressie anymore.

“I’m not a Ranger,” Bressie reminds him. They’re still close, hovering, all that tension and adrenaline sparking between them like it does with Niall and Tomlinson, like Niall and Harry. “Shit knees, shit ankles. I’m too old.”

“Shut up,” Niall says, more sharply than he means to.

“You know it’s true, petal,” Bressie says, and Niall does. He knows it’s true, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do without you, Bressie?” Niall demands, suddenly angry; stupidly angry. “Been with y’ since I was 19, haven’t I? Six months away, and now -- now I pick a new crew? Up and leave my old one?”

“ _Goddamn it_ , Niall, you know it’s not like that,” Bressie says, matching Niall’s sharp tone, and Niall blinks at him, not expecting it. He’s the one throwing a strop here, not Bressie. “You have an opportunity, you’re taking advantage of that. Nothin’ else. It’s not a… betrayal, or summat.”

“Feels like one,” Niall says, crossing his arms and shoving his hands into his armpits. “I don’t know how to do this --”

“How to do _what_ , Niall?” Bressie asks, stepping closer, hands closing around Niall’s shoulders, making them square off. Niall pulls away, glaring.

“Shit, stop usin’ my name like that,” Niall snaps, face heating up. “It’s all pet names until you’re chastisin’’ me.”

“I’m not --”

“I know,” Niall says quickly, cutting Bressie off. Bressie’s probably trying to do what’s right by Niall, or some shite. Bressie’s like that.

Bressie waits a moment then knocks his knuckles under Niall’s chin, making Niall look at him properly.

“What don’t you know how to do?”

“I don’t --” Niall bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut. He doesn’t know how to explain it. Why it’s so scary, why it matters so much. Why he’s so attached, so afraid of the change. Finally, he says, “I don’t know how I’m going to feel… about the lot of them.”

Everyone’s always said Drifting is dead intimate, and that’s terrifying. It takes so much for Niall to feel any inkling of... romantic emotions, any of that. And Niall knows it doesn’t _have_ to be like that. There are plenty of Drift Partnerships that remain platonic no matter how many times they get plunged into each other’s heads, but the more people there are around him, the more chances there are to form attachments -- all different types.

He’s already got whatever he’s got with Harry, he can feel the weight of it at the base of his spine when he’s near them. There’s the ghost of that feeling around Zayn, maybe Tomlinson -- Payne, if he had a chance to connect, he’s sure.

Maybe nothing as intense as whatever he feels for Bressie -- ‘s been years in Bressie’s company. Years of intense affection, nebulous and hard to pin down until… just the other night, when he was terrified enough to confront it.

It takes so much, but he doesn’t think he can stop himself from feeling everything there is to feel for anyone in his mind like that. It doesn’t seem like that would be _possible_.

“Probably,” Bressie hums, because he knows Niall, knows how he is. Knows the ebb and flow of Niall’s emotions like the moon knows the ocean tides.

“I’ve never had to love anyone else,” Niall admits, turning his head to look at Crimson Juggernaut so he doesn’t have to look at Bressie’s face. There’s a flush on his own cheeks, heart tripping up from saying it outloud. It’s something he never thought he’d say outloud, to Bressie no less.

“You don’t have to,” Bressie says, once a long moment has passed. The silence between them is heavy, exhausting. “You can still back out of it all. You don’t have t’ do it.”

Niall laughs. It’s humorless.

“Yeah, I do,” Niall says.

He came to terms with it over the weekend, really. He’s got these options. He can stay put, or keep going with the Drift Initiative. He can back out and hide behind the comfort of familiarity, or he can be useful -- he can be a part of something that might turn the whole Kaiju War around. Something that might help save the world.

“Yeah, you do,” Bressie says, with a wide grin, like he knew Niall’d say that. Hell, he probably did.

“Shut up,” Niall says, punching Bressie in the shoulder lightly. Bressie’s face crumples in an exaggerated wince, and he holds his arm, moaning.

“Proud of you, chief,” Bressie says, after he’s done with the drama. “Even if y’do hurt me so.”

“I’ll hurt you more,” Niall grumbles. It’s a complete lie, and Bressie knows it. Bressie grins until Niall finally smiles back, ruffling his hand through Niall’s hair as Niall bats at him.

“Know who you’re picking?” Bressie asks, curiously, once Niall’s fixed his hair.

“Probably do,” Niall admits, shrugging.

“Think so, too,” Bressie says, with a cheeky wink. “Y’know there’s a Drift team sat up in their Conn-Pod. I’m sure they think no one knows they’re in there.”

“Oh, yeah?” Niall asks, looking at Romeo’s bay. The Conn-Pod’s up about a story from the Jaeger’s body, keeping it away from the radioactive core. It’s not a simple task to sneak into the Drivesuit Room and into the Pod, but it’s not impossible. Far from.

“Then there’s that Malik kid on the observation deck again,” Bressie says, jerking his head back towards the east end of the hanger. Sure enough, the lights are on -- glowing dully against the neon, sparking insides of the hanger.

“Yeah, apparently someone told him he could hang out there,” Niall says, pressing his smile into his shoulder.

“ _Apparently_ ,” Bressie says, sounding unbearably fond. “He’s not alone, either. Got some Styles bloke up there with him.

Niall scrunches his nose and makes a noise of affirmation in his throat, stomach fluttering warmly. “That’s them then.”

“The four of them?” Bressie asks, eyebrows climbing up his forehead. Niall leans into him, making him take all Niall’s weight. He doesn’t even complain, arm coming up and circling Niall’s chest, anchoring him. Niall can feel his pulse pounding against his chest like a kickdrum, pressure against his ribs from more than Bressie holding onto him.

“The lot,” Niall agrees, hooking his hand over Bressie’s forearm, keeping him close. “Kinda figured.”

“Did ye?”

“One of them gut feelings,” Niall explains. “Couldn’t really get past it. Now they’re all here?”

Niall shrugs, not sure what he’s trying to say. He wrestles with it a bit, and Bressie waits him out patiently.

The pieces are all falling together. It feels like it was meant to be something. Hell, he’s barely said three things to Payne, and he’s already a fixture in Niall’s head like the rest of them. The Drift compatibility was there with Mendes, but it wasn’t the same. Niall didn’t latch onto him like he’s done with the other four.

When he thinks about it -- a team, the five of them -- it feels right, steadies him in a way he’s not expecting

“I dunno if I believe in fate,” Niall admits, after a moment of silence, swaying a bit in Bressie’s arms as they stand there. “But I might start.”

“Proper romantic that,” Bressie teases, laugh a low rumble in his chest that Niall feels against his back. He tightens his grip on Bressie, and ignores the slow starburst of sadness that he feels.

There’s no way to stop the change that’s coming. He’s already made up his mind.

 

 

**APRIL 2019 - YEAR SIX OF THE KAIJU WAR**

 

The loud blare of the Breach warning system rips Niall from his sleep, ears ringing. All the blood rushes to his head as he sits up, disoriented. It’s automatic to grab the stack of clothes next to his bed and pull them on hastily, even as dizziness makes his vision spot. Trousers, shirt, socks, thick canvas jacket -- he shoves his feet into his boots and hops towards the door as he attempts to tie them. 

The mech that makes up his left leg isn’t warmed up. It doesn’t want to support his weight, thigh going numb and prickly as the nerves spark up their connections. That’s what he can’t stand about this tech, the fact that it needs to, like, boot up after he’s been sleeping. There’s no time to wait, though, so he lets it be, limps it off as he busts through the door. 

The hallway is full of people moving quickly, all going where they need to go. Emergency lights bouncing off the walls, cycling through red and yellow and orange, casting everyone in a weird citrus glow.

Most everyone is coming out of their quarters, but Niall is looking for pilots. First ones out usually get to take point. 

And alright, it’s not even necessary to do this anymore -- he used to scope out who was going to make it out of the garage, so he knew what Jaegers he was going to look over when they came back in. Now that he’s not a J-Tech it doesn’t matter, but it gives him something to do besides stand around like a lug and crowd LOCCENT. 

Up ahead, Niall hears a familiar voice let out a _whoop!_ and he looks around for the source of it, excitement revving up in his stomach. Just like with Crimson Juggernaut, Niall’s never seen Reckless Romeo in action, but he knows what the battles look like. There’s a reason Louis and Liam are a highly sought-after Jaeger pilot duo. They’re _good_. Scary good.

Amidst the crowd, Louis is bouncing up and down, hands firmly planted on Liam’s shoulders, grin on his face wide as Niall’s ever seen it. They’re wearing matching bombers each with a big gaudy skull on the back, surrounded by roses, ‘Reckless’ embroidered in red with a delicate gold outline.

It’s over the top, but everyone loves it. What they’re doing is an easier pill to swallow when it’s branded: Romeo merchandise with skulls and roses all over it. Buy the Jaeger replica and Hammertooth! Re-enact Romeo’s first victory battle!

“Told you it was comin’!” Niall hears Louis shout as he and Liam peel off from the crowd towards the Drivesuit Rooms. Niall would follow them, snoop around and watch them connect, see if they have their own Techs, but he goes the other way instead, heading towards the temporary living quarters. 

He has to wiggle his way through the bodies headed in the opposite direction, hopping up the stairs when he finally gets to Harry's room and banging on the door with the side of his fist.

Harry opens it looking harassed, trousers half up their legs, hair sticking up everywhere. Behind them, Zayn’s pulling on a shirt at a much less anxious pace. A curious feeling strums in Niall’s chest as he hustles into the room, but he ignores it, focusing.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Niall says, grabbing Harry’s jacket up off their desk chair, then goes into their closet for their extra, tossing it at Zayn. “We gotta beat the rush if we’re going to go up.”

Harry brightens into wakefulness immediately, positively beaming. “Can we do that?” they ask, sitting quickly to pull on their boots. It’s endearing, how they’re all elbows and knees. Zayn fends them off, lacing his own boots. 

The notification alert on Niall’s watch beeps. 

“Only if we fuckin’ hurry,” Niall says, bouncing impatiently, already edging out the door. Zayn’s behind, pace sedated, but at least he’s coming. The boots are still giving Harry the run-around. “Harry.”

“Coming,” they say, popping up, leaving one shoe unlaced. 

“Oh fuck no,” Niall says, whirling around and dropping to his knees so he can tie up Harry’s boot. Harry steadies themself with a hand on Niall’s shoulder as he tugs at the laces and ties them right. “Can’t have you fallin’ all over.”

He looks up at Harry long enough to see Harry looking back, smirking at him.

“Don’t be cheeky,” Niall says, popping up hurriedly, cheeks flushing. Harry winks at Niall as Niall heads out the door, and Niall ignores them pointedly. Behind him, he can hear Zayn and Harry both giggling, and he ignores that, too. 

All he can do is hope they’re following as he weaves through the crowd hurriedly and heads towards the maintenance lift. It’s empty, most of the crew’s already in the bay or on their way to Mission Control. Niall pushes Zayn and Harry in, smacking the roof button with more force than necessary. He feels like he’s gunna come straight out of his skin, he’s so excited.

The lift starts with a shudder, gears groaning as it heads up. The Breach alarm is still going, but at a lower pitch now, lights no longer flashing about. The walls tremble and shake as one of the Jaegers starts unlocking, ready to drop. 

“Romeo?” Harry asks, head tilted like they’re listening. Niall wonders what it was like at their old base; if the whole thing creaked and groaned when the mechs were let out, or if it was quieter, cleaner. 

LA was one of the last Shatterdomes established, built in a haste as more and more Kaiju crawled out of the Breach. A desperate attempt to guard the coast. Even when it’s quiet, the whole building breathes loudly. 

“Saw Louis and Liam heading out,” Niall confirms, rubbing his palms on his trousers. This is first time he’s going out onto the field when there might be a Kaiju out there. He’s bricking it. “Figured we’d spot ‘em.”

“All three of us?” Zayn asks, voice low and curious. Niall shrugs at him. 

“Got enough seats,” Niall says. “Y’ did guns and flight, right?” 

Most Rangers nowadays do, but Niall knows training wasn’t always so technical. Zayn’s been around much longer than Niall has, or Harry, for that matter.

“Yeah, did,” Zayn agrees, nodding, scrubbing a hand over his head. It’s weird, seeing him all regulation -- haircut resembling a high and tight more than it did, clean shaven. Combat ready. He gives Niall a sideways smile when Niall rubs his head. 

“For luck,” Niall says, making Zayn giggle.

The lift opens to the roof. It’s cold and windy, dark as hell out. The sound of chopper blades cut over the sound of the alarm, the whole helipad lit up in reds and yellows from the flashing lights. There are four big choppers with warming their engine up. Niall leads Harry and Zayn towards the nearest Tech. 

“Checkin’ in, Horan.” Niall has to yell, but the Tech waves them through distractedly, probably didn't even hear him. Niall checks his watch and heads over to the second to last chopper where Lauren’s fuelling up. 

“Horan!” she shouts, stretching her arms wide. Niall sweeps her up in a hug and shouts back at her. 

“Jauregui, this is Malik and Styles,” he says, tugging them both in. They shift awkwardly and wave. “Some of my partners in the Drift Initiative.”

“I know,” she hollers, smiling at Harry and Zayn before she tugs up her mouth cover and gestures towards the chopper with her head. Niall nods and leads them in, letting Harry and Zayn slide into the bench across from him while Niall takes door gunner.

They get strapped in, helmets on. Niall tries to ignore the queasy feeling in his gut from the anxiety. He’s spent more than enough hours in simulations, done more than enough practice runs. He knows he can do this. 

“Take off,” Lauren says, right in their ears, comm pieces clear even as the rotors beat the air, heavy and loud. Niall’s hands automatically check over the gatling as Lauren communicates with the tower. 

They ascend, slow and steady. Pro flier, Lauren is, doesn’t let them shake or falter. The helicopter banks, hovering as the giant double-doors start to move, pushing out waves, Shatterdome opening up. 

Behind them, the platform is lowering Reckless Romeo into the ocean. There’s a beep through the comm and a distinctive _whoop!_ as Romeo comes online. 

“Chopper One, check,” Lauren says. 

“Chopper Two, check.” It sounds like Normani. 

“Good to have you all,” Liam says, voice cheery and lovely over the speakers. It sounds like he’s grinning. That big one he does where his cheeks scrunch up, maybe. That’s a feeling Niall can relate to, adrenaline making him giddy as hell.

“Good to be here, Romeo,” Niall says, feeling jittery all in his tummy. Across the space, Harry smiles at him, giving him a big thumbs up.

“Is that our Nialler, Liam?” he hears Louis ask, sounding pleased. 

“Might be,” Liam coos, laughing lightly. 

Thank god no one can see his face properly, hidden by the dark and his helmet; Niall knows he must be red with how warm his face goes. And he can’t even respond, too busy kicking at Zayn’s shin as Zayn laughs at him, loudly. 

“Stop making Horan blush,” Marshal Cowell says over the comm, and everyone shuts the fuck up. “We’re looking at a Category II coming at us. Fast mover, heading for San Diego. Intercept, minimal casualties.”

“As always,” Louis crows. 

Behind Romeo, the platform retracts back into the Shatterdome. The hanger’s lit up from the inside, and Niall can see one of the new Jaegers stepping up to be lowered down.

Harry leans forward in their seat, fingers at the side of their helmet, clicking the comm over to the private line where only Lauren and them can hear. 

“Hydra Hyperion,” Harry says. “Mark-4. Piloted by the Hadid sisters.”

“New around here,” Niall replies. He met the Hadids once. Up-and-comers, lots of buzz surrounding them. Consistent psych evals got Niall the Drift Initiative over Gigi Hadid; they were evenly matched for most of the initial testing, but she ended up having too many incompatibilities by the end of it. 

Seems like she’s doing alright though, if that bot’s anything to go by. In the light of the hanger, Hydra’s dark blue with matte black trim. Once the platform drops and the door behind her closes, the darkness swallows her up except for all her lit up bits -- the lines of power up her limbs, leading to her glowing heart. 

The other two choppers circle around Hydra’s head, pilots checking in over the comm before Niall hears Bella Hadid say, “Hydra Hyperion, ready.”

“Reckless Romeo, ready,” Liam adds. 

Lauren circles Romeo’s head as she starts to move, the mechanical pump of hydraulics audible over everything; the whirl of her limbs, the heavy thuds of her feet hitting the ocean floor. Waves push out as she walks, spotlights mounted on her shoulders shining through the hollow belly of the chopper. 

“Lookin’ good behind that gun, Horan,” Louis says, letting out a low whistle. Niall flips him two fingers for the spirit of it, highly doubting either of them can see the gesture. 

“What’d I say, Tomlinson,” Marshal Cowell says, all gruff in Niall’s ear. Louis cackles, but doesn’t say anything, letting the comm go silent. LOCCENT takes the opportunity to direct them, repositioning them twice before they’re told to fly ahead. 

“Headed straight at you, still a few dozen kilometers out,” comes a voice. Someone from Control that Niall doesn’t recognize. He eases the gun into position, spine feeling tight with anticipation, palms sweaty on the hand grip; he wishes he grabbed his gloves, something to give him traction. 

“Malik, spotlight,” Lauren says abruptly, and Zayn obediently switches the one closest to him on, pointing it at the murky surface of the Pacific Ocean. They all watch for any sign of phosphorescent glow. 

Niall sees it right before Mission Control shouts over the comm, “you’re on top of it!”

The neon blue slithers under the surface before the warning, and the Kaiju bursts from the waves -- water rains down on the helicopter with so much force that they sway unsteadily like they’re caught in a gale. 

Lauren pulls them out and away as the Kaiju shrieks and lands on Romeo’s back, long arms digging in. It’s a sickly grey, this one. Limbs webbed like a bat, claws at the end. Its got a face full of eyes, and its lower jaw splits open as it screams -- showing off razor sharp teeth and a long, black tongue. 

It’s claws scramble over Romeo’s steel hull, making an awful screech, worse than the cawing coming from its mouth. Romeo gets two hands around its belly and pulls it off, landing a punch in its gut, sending it flying a few meters, limbs and tail flailing comically. 

“Need some earplugs, baby,” Louis says, as the Kaiju lets out another deafening noise, popping up out of the ocean, turning towards Romeo. 

“Break its jaw!” Liam suggests. 

Romeo starts running towards the Kaiju, Hydra flanking her. It notices both the bots and charges, trying to duck them, but they’re too quick, big fists locking together, bracing as the Kaiju runs into their outstretched arms full force.

The Kaiju reels and collapses. The waves the fall causes are huge, meters upon meters tall. Lauren hits the collective pitch-lever and lifts the chopper out of the way, steering it around Romeo’s head as Zayn shines the spotlight down on the bots.

“Need something armor piercing,” Gigi sing-songss over the comm, as the Kaiju starts to rise. 

There’s a chorus of affirmations, Niall included. It’s automatic to set up the gatling and take aim. Shot rings out, and Niall’s whole body jerks as he squeezes the trigger, torso taking the kick. The Kaiju screams again and again. Blue drips down its scales and into the Pacific, mixing with the water and lighting up the surrounding area like a broken glow stick under blacklight. 

The toxic stink of it makes Niall feel queasy, but he locks his jaw and eyeballs the sight once more. The Kaiju’s up now, taking swings at Hydra even as it bleeds out. A few more shots land in its soft bits. 

Across from Niall on the bench, Harry’s got one of the large caliber rifles set up on their shoulder, end focused on the Kaiju. 

The comm clicks to private and Niall hears Zayn say, “Makin’ me feel inadequate.”

“We could swap,” Niall says, leaning his shoulder on the button so he doesn’t have to move his hands. All Zayn does is laugh, so Niall takes that as a no. Harry grins belatedly. Niall leans on the button again. “Good shootin’, Hazza.”

They give Niall thumbs up before they turn back to the scene below them. 

It’s all screeching and flailing limbs, Blue everywhere. Romeo’s mostly punching the thing, knocking it back a few meters before it charges again, relentless. Every time the Kaiju or one of the Jaegers gets hit, or stumbles, or moves too quickly, another wall of water goes up, ocean raining down on them like a storm, hitting heavy against the chopper.

It’s hard to see what’s really happening -- the metal and limbs and sparking as the Kaiju’s claws land against the outer hull of either Jaeger. Lauren flies quickly, trying to get into position. The Jaegers are handling the Kaiju, but Niall and the rest of the door gunners keep shooting at the big sucker’s back until it screams and moves, whirling around with all six of its bright blue eyes darting around like it’s trying to find the source of the annoyance. 

Romeo gets it around the chest, holding it close as it squirms. Niall can see the pressure valves in its arms releasing as the Kaiju tries to wiggle free, and Romeo holds on tighter and tighter, steel creaking and protesting. 

“It’d be nice if we had a sword about now,” he hears Gigi say over the comm, voice low and tight. Louis and Liam laugh, like it’s funny they’re unable to activate the plasma sword strapped to Romeo’s back because they’ve got the Kaiju wriggling bodily against them.

Lauren pulls the chopper out again as Hydra skids to a halt in front of Romeo and the Kaiju. There’s a specialty weapon on her arm that drops into place, whole arm up to her shoulder neon green. The Kaiju shrieks and thrashes like it knows exactly what’s going to happen when Hydra punches it in the gut. 

The Kaiju lights up like fireworks, whatever the green shite is burning it up, skin dissolving quickly -- popping and boiling. The noise that comes out of it is so loud it cuts over the sound of everything else, making Niall’s ears vibrate. He holds onto the gun tightly so he doesn’t do something stupid, like drop it to put his head between his knees -- won’t help a lick, but the urge is there, Kaiju’s yell so loud in his head. Across from him, Harry’s jaw locks so hard Niall sees the way the muscles in their cheek tremble. 

The Kaiju dies like that, long wail tapering off until its body goes slack and drops; Kaiju Blue polluting the waves around it. Over the comm, there’s a collective exhale of relief before Niall hears Mission Control deploy HAZMAT -- something they haven’t done in a long, long time. 

Must be trying to impress some higher ups, make the program look good. It’s been a long six years, and the more Kaiju that come through the Breach, the less any government cares to extend resources to clean up the bodies -- no matter how much damage they’re causing the environment.

There were probably loads of studies on the effects of Blue on shorelines and in the water since the Breach opened up, but Niall’s too busy trying to help keep the world from ending to pay much attention these days. 

If HAZMAT didn’t come, then Kaiju harvesters might, to grab up all the good stuff for the black market. If they didn’t come, then the body would rot, and there’d be tons of dead sea life washing up on the California coast in less than a week. 

In the aftermath of the fight, it just stinks -- sharp like sewage and rot. In a few hours, the air surrounding it will be toxic. All the blood will stain the beach. Even HAZMAT can’t catch it all. Most beaches are Blue. Not that Niall notices, too busy looking at the insides of a bot, or the Shatterdome. 

Before the War, Bobby used to take him down the beach plenty. Ireland’s not like California, its coast is gloomy and dark with clouds more than not, but Niall loved it. Loved the peace of the waves lapping the cliffs and the birds in the sky, the endless horizon. 

Ireland’s beaches probably aren’t Blue. Niall doesn’t think the Atlantic is toxic the way the Pacific is, but he doesn’t know. He doesn’t think about it much. It’s been a long time since he’s seen home. It’ll be even longer before he’s back again, he’s sure.

These days, he likes looking up at the stars instead of down at the ocean. It’s more reassuring to know that there’s nothing coming at them from the sky.

“Another one bites the dust,” Zayn says, sounding giddy and relieved. Niall gets that; all that adrenalin is still going inside him, making him feel antsy to get back to base. 

Lauren seems to feel the same way. “Flying ahead,” she announces. The chopper turns and heads back towards the Shatterdome. Romeo looks up, headlamps aimed towards the helicopter as Louis and Liam make her wave. Niall locks down the gatling and listens as cheers chorus in his ears. 

They won. 

The flight back seems to take forever. None of the energy dissipates. If anything, it gets worse, with Harry and Zayn grinning at each other and him. Niall can’t quite believe what just happened. 

Once the helicopter lands and Lauren powers her down, Niall’s going to burst. Niall can practically feel Harry and Zayn vibrating, all this tension knotting up around the three of them as they head towards roof access. 

A flush creeps over Harry’s cheeks as Niall tangles his fingers with theirs. There’s a crushing pressure on his chest, and he doesn’t know why it’s there, but it intensifies as soon as Zayn takes Harry’s free hand. It’s almost like Niall can feel it, the slither of the connection running between all of them. 

Niall squeezes Harry’s hand and sets off towards the maintenance access, all of them laughing as they tug each other along -- Niall in front, Harry, Zayn -- going as fast as they can with Niall’s leg still acting up. They tumble down the steps, holding onto each other tightly, out onto the topmost level of the Shatterdome. The big wrap-around corridor that leads to the Drivesuit Rooms.

“Dock 5,” they all say at the same time, and Niall lets out a bark of laughter that’s echoed by Harry and Zayn. He can barely breathe, feels like they’re caught in the middle of a storm -- the electric charge of lightning, the barometric pressure all around them. 

There’s a crowd waiting around the Room, but they push through, breaking the circle in time to see Liam and Louis tumble out of the Drivesuit room, back in uniform, holding onto each other tightly. Grins light up their face, ecstatic. The bystanders in the hallway start cheering, hollering loudly, whistling. 

“We fuckin’ did it,” Louis is saying, grabbing Liam, pulling him in, in, in. There’s pressure at the bottom of Niall’s stomach like a rollercoaster drop as Louis swoops in and kisses Liam right there in front of everyone, hands on either side of Liam’s face. He pulls back enough to ask, “This okay?”

Liam nods and nods and nods, even as Louis is kissing him again, smiling into each other’s mouths. Watching them makes Niall light headed, dizzy. Harry’s hand tightens in his, a spasm almost, and Niall wonders if they can feel it too.

“There’s our Rangers,” Louis says, when they finally untangle, eyes finding Niall in the crowd immediately, like he wasn’t just caught up in _Liam, Liam, Liam_. Big hands shove Niall forward, and he’s stumbling into Louis’ arms, laughing as Louis tugs him in and holds him tight. There’s a pair of lips at his neck, warm and soft and gone too soon, before he’s passed over to Liam. 

“Good shootin’,” Liam says, a sweet breath of congratulations over the ghost of a kiss on Niall’s skin, and all Niall can do is nod, hugging back tightly. 

“Good fighting,” Niall says, before a heavy weight hits his back, and he’s engulfed by whomever’s pressed against him, arms and hands everywhere, clenching him tightly. They’re all huddled together, swaying. 

The thunder cracking down his spine steadies and calms. He’s still riding high, he can still feel it, but it’s more settled now that Liam and Louis are here with them. 

They stay like that for a long moment, breathing together, until they all untangle at the same time. Niall nearly falls when his left leg tweaks. The only thing that keeps him from tipping is Harry’s hand on his waist. 

“What’s with that?” they ask, tipping their chin at Niall’s leg. 

“Didn’t warm up,” Niall replies, shrugging, wiggling his foot back and forth. The right side twinges harder than it normally does. “I was gunna head to the Medic to get it looked at, might need a tweak.”

“I’ll go with you,” Zayn says, left hand flexing. “Should get checked out, too.”

“And I need my T,” Louis announces, slinging an arm over Zayn’s shoulders. Zayn ducks his head and rolls his eyes, even as a pleased little smile curls on his lips.

“Why don’t we all go then,” Harry says, rolling their eyes. Louis arches his eyebrows, but shrugs, gaze darting to where Harry’s tangled his hand with Liam’s. There’s a beat where Niall’s sure Louis’s going to take the piss, but he doesn’t say anything. All he does is tug Zayn closer and aim them towards the lift. 

It takes awhile to get there. Everyone wants to congratulate Liam and Louis for doing a good job. It’s jostling their whole group, seeing as Louis won’t let go of Zayn and Harry won’t let go of Liam, and Niall’s in the middle of the four of them. 

It doesn’t matter much. He likes it, likes Harry between him and the crowd, being able to grab onto the back of Zayn’s jacket as they walk and talk and shout and cheer. Louis is glowing at the center of it all, smile bright, voice loud. 

“I’ll tell it again at breakfast!” he announces, once they’re at the lift. He finally untangles from Zayn and shoves them in, keeping anyone else from coming in the lift with them. There’s a dramatic flourish to the bow he gives before the doors slide close. 

Louis turns on them, smile sharp. Liam’s positively beaming. 

“Can I kiss you again?” Louis asks, already making his way across the lift. Niall shuffles together with Zayn and Harry, giving them space. 

“Do you really have to ask?” Liam sounds exasperated, but he’s tugging Louis in, big hand on Louis’ jaw. The look on Louis’ face is the softest Niall’s ever seen his expression. It feels like they’re intruding on a moment here, but Niall doesn’t think he could look away if he tried. 

“‘Course I do,” Louis says, sounding affronted. “Sometimes you don’t --”

“I know,” Liam interrupts, before pulling Louis in for a snog. It’s slow and syrupy. Just watching makes Niall’s head spin, like he’s the one getting kissed, air in the lift suddenly so much thinner than it was. 

Next to him, Harry makes a noise in their throat, something deep and warm, and yeah, Niall gets it. 

“That was good,” Louis says, when they pull out of it, foreheads still pressed together. Niall doesn’t know if he means the Kaiju fight or the kiss, but Niall agrees either way. “Shit, we’re good.”

“We’re the best,” Liam agrees. 

“You really are,” Harry says. Liam and Louis turn at the same time, blinking slow, as if they forgot there were other people around them. “It’s was brilliant to watch.”

“All the punching was great,” Niall agrees, shoving a hand through his hair while Zayn laughs at him, one big cackle that Niall’s never heard from him before. 

“The punching, bro,” he says, leaning on Niall’s shoulder. 

“It _was_ ,” Niall grumbles, feeling warm. Louis is looking at him from across the lift, something soft and unreadable on his face. 

“The punching’s my favorite part,” Liam announces, digging his hand into Louis’ side, making him yelp and squirm away. “Glad you were all there.”

They grin at each other stupidly until the lift dings and lets them out on the third level. 

The Medic wing reminds Niall of every futuristic Sci-Fi movie he watched as a kid. Brightly lit with blue and white LEDs, rows of sterilized tables, full digital readings, projected vital sign monitors. The technology is so advanced, Niall can’t keep up. This is what happens when every nation in the world has to come together to fight giant monsters -- shared intellect.

There’s a few nurses puttering about in sky blue uniforms. The nearest is a lady he recognizes, Siobhan something-or-other; she does diagnostics on his leg regularly. She smiles at the group as they wander in, gesturing to the nearest exam table.

“What’re we in for?” she asks politely, eyeing Louis and Liam particularly as she pulls the curtain out from the wall so it creates a small divider between them and the rest of the room. Harry and Liam sit in the chairs set off to the side.

“Won’t warm up,” Niall says, gesturing to his leg as he hops up on the table, bearing most of his weight on his good leg. Zayn sits behind him, shoulder pressed to Niall’s back. 

“Just a check up,” he mumbles. He sounds sleepy.

“Just my dose,” Louis hums, grabbing Liam as he heads off towards the pharmacy counter, hands tangling together, latching onto Liam’s arm tightly. 

“Didn’t think Louis would be the clingier of the two,” Harry comments amusedly, watching them go. Siobhan’s already disappeared to get the diagnosis machines for Niall and Zayn’s tech, leaving the three of them in the makeshift room.

“What? Totally called that, bro,” Zayn says, raising his eyebrows. “He’s all --” Zayn scrunches up his face dramatically, and Niall doesn’t even think to question why he knows _exactly_ what that means as he laughs. 

“Yeah he is,” Niall agrees, leaning out to watch Louis curiously as he gets a brown bottle from the M-Tech. When he notices Niall, his eyebrows go up -- silently questioning -- Niall does the only thing he can really think of, he winks. 

Louis’ face screws up in surprise before he laughs out loud, shoulder hitting Liam’s until Liam pays attention, saying something right in his ear. Liam catches Niall’s eye and winks, too. Niall sits back and flushes as they round the partition. 

“C’mere, love,” Louis says to Liam, tugging him back into the corner so that the curtain blocks them from sight. 

Niall turns his head to watch as Liam rolls his eyes but complies, hopping up on the last little bit of exam table behind Niall. His shoulder presses to Niall’s back, an echo of Zayn on the other side, and Niall doesn’t even have to think about wanting Harry to touch him -- he feels Harry’s palm cupping his right knee, steady and warm.

Louis sighs and settles between Liam’s legs, pulling the nearest sterilized rolling table towards him. He drops the bottle and a sealed, disposable syringe he must have gotten from the pharmacist on it before he shoves his trousers down to the knee. Niall can feel Zayn laugh where they’re pressed together as Louis reaches out for the packaged needle -- and that’s Niall’s cue. He turns so quickly he nearly tips over, hands planted firm on the exam table to keep himself from tipping. 

“You do that yourself?” Niall asks, staring firmly ahead. Needles give him the willies. Harry’s watching with big, curious eyes.

“Uh, duh,” he hears Louis say gruffly, sounding defensive.

“I couldn’t,” Niall replies, feeling queasy. Harry taps his fingers against Niall’s knee, a disjointed rhythm. Niall’s not sure if it’s meant to distract him, or make him focus. “Needles.”

“You get over it.” Louis’ voice has an edge that Niall didn’t mean to put there. “If you have to.”

“Sorry, I -- I didn’t mean --” Niall laughs awkwardly. 

“Thanks,” Louis says, quickly, saving Niall from any more stupid comments. “For apologizing.”

“‘Course,” Niall replies, cheeks warm. He feels Zayn press his shoulder more firmly into Niall’s back. “One of these days I’ll stop fucking up.”

“Most cis people do,” Harry says, with a wink, thumb rubbing over Niall's kneecap. Niall appreciates the reassurance, since he spent the first night, and the following weekend, misgendering Harry. If anyone should be upset, it’s them. “How many trans people did you know before you met me ‘n Louis?”

Niall’s nose scrunches up. “I don’t know. I could have -- I might not have known.”

“That’s a good answer, lad,” Louis says, coming around to the front of the table again, trousers pulled up. Liam's already sliding off the table, hovering at Louis’ side. The smile Louis gives Niall is small and private. “You can be taught.”

“Slow going,” Niall agrees, ducking his head so Louis doesn’t see the full stretch of his grin. It might be silly, but he’s glad. 

“Alright, suck up,” Harry says, crossing their arms over their chest. They’re also smiling, so Niall doesn’t know how much they mean it. 

Niall knocks his foot against Harry’s leg threateningly. Harry slides their hand down Niall’s leg, warm fingers circling his ankle and squeezing before they let go. The look on their face is soft, indulgent, and Niall finds himself flushing more as he looks away. 

Pressed to his back, Zayn’s laughing again. 

“Absolutely revolting,” Louis says, looking between Niall and Harry. Harry flips two fingers at him smugly. 

“Alright lads,” Liam says, reaching around Louis to swat at Harry. They stick their tongue out at him, but cooperate, hand dropping back to Niall’s knee. 

“Ready?” Siobhan asks, completely oblivious to the exchange as she pushes one slim diagnostic machine in front of her and pulls another behind her. Louis leaps out of the way quickly, pulling Liam with him and shoving him into the closest chair before dropping into Liam’s lap. Harry watches them amusedly before taking the seat next to them, giving Siobhan room to work. 

It’s all routine. She peels back the artificial skin from Niall’s ankle and plugs in some thin wires. Niall’s nerves deaden from the thigh down as his leg goes offline to talk to the diagnostic program. 

The hardware always feels heavier when the tech isn’t helping it breathe. Niall leans back on his hands and watches Liam and Louis curl up together like kittens, Louis’ arms around Liam’s neck, tucked in close. Liam’s big hands cradling Louis’ hip. 

It’s interesting to watch the way they velcro. Niall’s seen it before, of course, with other pilot duos. After Drifting, there’s this need to touch, still tangled up in each other’s energies from being in the Jaeger together. 

Some people feel that urge worse than others, have to be all over each other, not just content with holding hands or hugging loosely. Louis’s one of those people, Niall guesses, watching him press a kiss to Liam’s neck. 

Their eyes catch, and Louis smiles lazily. 

“I’m a limpet,” he admits. “Liam’s tolerant.”

“Don’t let Tommo lie to you,” Liam says, rolling his eyes. “Can’t get enough of the cuddles.” 

If anything, the declaration makes Louis’ smile widen even more. Harry rolls their eyes.

“I’m going to get cavities sitting in the room with you lot,” Zayn mutters as Siobhan wheels around the second machine, holding his arm out for her. Harry raises their eyebrows at him. 

“Like you’re not clingy,” they say lightly. Niall snickers into his shoulder, looking over at Zayn. Zayn’s face is scrunched up in annoyance, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Always up for a snuggle.”

“Shut it, you,” Zayn says to Harry. 

“We could all shut it,” Louis says, shielding his head when Liam goes to smack him for it. 

“Don’t be a brat,” Liam chides. 

“I’m not even,” Louis complains. 

“You are.”

They go on bickering, quiet and good naturedly. Niall lets himself space out, waiting for the diagnostics machine to give him any sort of feedback, leaning back against Zayn as heavily as he can without making them topple. They’ve never really cuddled up before; Niall’s enjoying how warm and solid Zayn feels. 

“C’mere,” Zayn says, right up against Niall’s ear. Niall twists to see Zayn scooting up the table, spreading his legs for Niall, patting the space between them invitingly. “It’ll be more comfy. This shit can take forever.”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees, pulse jumping sharply as they get arranged -- Niall’s back to Zayn’s chest, body bracketed by Zayn’s thighs. Zayn keeps his left arm out for the machine, and Niall can stretch his leg out. It is more comfortable. 

Zayn fits his right hand over Niall’s hip, and Niall freezes, reminding himself to breathe as his cheeks flush. He’s thankful Zayn can’t see his face, but the other three can. Louis’s biting his lip to keep from laughing out loud, Niall’s pretty sure.

There’s a ricochet effect with their pulses as Niall leans back, feeling the heavy pound of Zayn’s heart against his back, echoing in his own chest. The air around them feels warm and tense, but it’s not making Niall anxious. More like, excited, maybe.

Niall wills himself to relax, sinks into Zayn’s hold. Across from them, Harry’s dimpling like they’re proud. Niall flips them two fingers, feels when Zayn laughs against his back. 

They have to sit for awhile. Siobhan insists on checking everyone over, since they were all out on the field, and the small nerve reconfiguration Niall gets for his leg takes a while, but it’s painless, and soon they’re being shooed away.

Harry kisses her cheek and promises to come back to see her.

“Where to now?” Louis asks, once they’re in the lift and headed for the first floor. He’s looking between them all expectantly, and Niall gets it. He has no desire to head back to his living quarters alone. 

The adrenaline in his system has wound down. He doesn’t feel wired out of his mind, desperate to do something.. He doesn’t want them to go, wants the five of them together.

“Kitchens,” Harry says, with a little nod. Everyone looks at them. They shrug. “Post-Kaiju ice cream.”

“Whatever you want,” Niall says, easily, happy there’s something for them to do. Harry dimples at him.

It’s not late, but people don’t hang around the Mess Hall after dinner’s done. There are Rec Rooms for that, plenty of ‘em. Despite it being a weeknight, Niall’s sure people slipped off to the closest bar to celebrate the victory. 

Niall wonders if there’s still Blue on the water, or if HAZMAT has come and gone. If that body’s still there. 

They’re that sleepy kind of quiet as they head through the dimly lit hall. Most of the chairs and benches are stacked. Someone probably came by and cleaned the floors. Niall used to do that, when he couldn’t sleep at night. Weird arse chores in the middle of the night. 

Now, he meets up with Liam more often than not. They take to sparring in empty Combat Rooms.

The first night it happened it was an accident. It was after midnight and Niall couldn’t sleep, too busy staring at the dull grey of his ceiling think about… Well, he was thinking about Liam that night. 

Usually it was the four of them. Conversations and interactions all on a loop in Niall’s head. Niall sat on the catwalk overlooking the hanger, all of them in the same place. That warm feeling he gets in the deepest parts of himself when he thinks about all of them together. 

That night it was overwhelming. Anytime he thought about it, his head spun, so he thought about Liam instead -- the concentration on his face when he wrapped Niall’s hands, the soft looks he always gave Louis. 

It was easy to read Liam. There wasn’t a secret in his whole body, Niall didn’t think. All his emotions were accessible. That kind of vulnerability was fascinating to Niall. And terrifying, considering his own inability to confront all the shit in his head until it was nearly too late.

The point was that Liam was a steady place for his thoughts to rest. Thinking about Louis made Niall feel edgy, remembering the burning feeling of desire he got when they sparred. Similar to Harry, to Zayn -- so many too-bright feelings crammed into his head, making him feel tangled up.

Liam was simpler. Niall’s attracted to him in the same way he’s attracted to the others, but the urgency is dialed down to a slow simmer. Liam is calm waters when the others are waves; a gentle breeze when the others are Santa Ana winds. 

So he thought about Liam while he lay there staring at the concrete of his ceiling. Thought about the way he smiled with his whole body, and ached deep in his chest for no reason at all. It wasn’t helping him sleep. 

It actually made him want to get up, leave his room, go… find Liam. 

Which was stupid. Liam was asleep with Louis in their living quarters while Niall was stuck inexplicably pining. 

Eventually, he got out of bed and put on his trainers, determined to run the mess out of his head. Maybe if he was physically exhausted, he’d mentally wear himself out. 

It was so late the hallways were clear, white lights seemingly brighter without people to take up the space. 

He concentrated on breathing as he ran, the way his shoes hit the concrete. Inhale, exhale. Air filling up his lungs, ribcage expanding. There was a buzz in the soles of his feet that he couldn’t shake no matter how quickly he tried to run, an ache in the center of his chest like a stitch.

He went his usual route. Autopilot through the hallways and past the hanger, around the front. There was a night detail at the doors. A circle of five or six dudes playing cards with their guns across their laps. Niall waved as he passed, turning around. 

On the way back, he decided to take the stairs up a flight to the second level Combat Rooms. He wasn’t ready to go back to his room yet, still too wired. If anything, he had more energy now. Which was fucking unfortunate.

All the rooms were dark, glow of the hall lights barely creeping past the archways. There was one lit up at the end of the hall. Niall skidded to a stop a few feet from the entryway, trainers squeaking against the concrete as his heart leapt in his chest. 

He grinned stupidly, unable to help himself. He could hear the heavy fall of fists against a punching back, labored breathing, and the shuffle of feet against the sparring mat. 

Niall walked slow, nearly dizzy with relief as he rounded the corner. 

There Liam was. Sweaty and flushed, in nothing but a pair of loose shorts, boxing gloves on his hands. Niall watched his arms as he threw a few more punches, traced the strong line of his shoulder down to the taper of his waist. 

Liam steadied the punching bag with two hands, peeking around to look at Niall, face bright and open. 

“Thought it was you,” he said, biting into the strap of the glove to unfasten it, velcro ripping loudly in the quiet of the Combat Room. 

“Why?” Niall asked, breathing heavily from the run. The sharp ache in his chest was gone. He felt content, finding Liam.

“Had a feeling,” Liam said, shrugging. He stripped his gloves off and tossed them down as Niall toed off his shoes. Now that he wasn’t running, his skin was chilled from the cooling sweat, and Niall blamed that for the way he shivered when he caught Liam watching him. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Niall asked, drifting closer. Liam pushed his hair off his forehead, shrugging.

“Usually can’t,” he said, before looking Niall up and down. “Wanna work on your shite wrestling?”

“Sure,” Niall laughed, giddy with the prospect. 

True to his word, Liam’s been teaching him wrestling moves in exchange for Niall’s bow staff skills. It’s strange, thinking about it, how much he’s had Liam to himself, the private space they carved for themselves without realizing it.

“Wonder what they’re going to call the Kaiju,” Liam says, making up for the lull in conversation.

“I’m sure it’s trending already, bro,” Zayn says, laughing. 

“Hashtag Reckless Romeo Kay-Oh!” Louis says, smacking his elbow with an open palm. The sound rings out, startling Niall as Louis cackles loudly. The empty Mess Hall takes the sound, amplifies it. 

“Jesus Christ, shut it, Tommo,” Niall says, shoving at Louis’ shoulder. 

“Oh, I’m ‘Tommo’ now, am I?” Louis asks, with a grin that’s closer to a leer. Niall flushes. He didn’t realize he’d used Liam’s nickname for Louis. It slipped out. Liam uses it all the time when he talks about Louis, Niall didn’t mean to…

“Stop panicking, lad,” Louis says, when Niall doesn’t respond. “I guess it’s alright that you call me Tommo.”

“Oh good,” Niall says, trying to feign nonchalance, even as his chest untangles on the exhale. It always surprises him how well everyone else can read him, sometimes. Well, the four of them, really. 

He tries not to think about the implications of that too much, but ends up thinking about it all the time.

“And kitchens,” Harry announces, saving Niall from Louis’ curious gaze. Niall watches them sidle up to the keypad and tap in the code. The lock beeps and clicks, lighting up green before the door wheezes and slides open. 

“How do you have that?” Liam asks, following them in. Louis jogs a bit to catch up, hooking his fingers in the pit of Liam’s elbow like a kid in a crowd. 

“I have my ways,” Harry shrugs, making a beeline for the big stand up freezer on the far side of the room. 

“Means he’s a kiss arse and always compliments the chef,” Zayn says, following Harry in while they all laugh. There’s a pout on Harry’s face, but it looks like they’re barely keeping themself from giggling.

Niall’s never been inside the kitchens before. It’s a walled off room, but there’s a massive window looking out on the Mess Hall. All the appliances and table tops are chrome, silver glowing dully in the white freezer light when Harry pops the door open. 

They root around and pull out two small containers of ice cream before wandering over to a box set on the countertop and popping the lid. There’s spoons inside. They grab a handful, nudging their hip against Zayn’s as they pass him. 

The five of them gather around the island. Harry makes their way over to Liam, nudging Niall out of the way so they’re between Niall and Liam. They drop one of the pints between them and Liam, and scoot the other towards Niall. 

“Mint chocolate chip?” Louis says, wrinkling his nose. Harry rolls their eyes. 

“It’s not for you,” they say, then point at the ice cream Niall has. It’s rocky road. “You’re sharing with them.”

Louis comes around to Niall’s side, hooking his chin over Niall’s shoulder. A laugh vibrates through them both. “Alright, that’s fine.”

“My favorite,” Zayn says, grabbing a spoon. 

“Mine, too,” Niall and Louis say, all at once. They nearly knock heads they look at each other so quickly. Louis jerks at the last second and almost falls backwards, but his hands catch on Niall’s waist and he steadies himself. 

“Is it really?” he asks both Zayn and Niall. 

“Yeah,” Niall says. There’s a spoonful of ice cream in Zayn’s mouth, so all he does is nod. 

“Interesting,” Louis says, watching Harry. They grin around their own spoon, leaning into Liam’s side. 

“I’m all knowing,” they say, sounding a bit smug about it. 

“Are you?” Zayn asks, digging up a good chunk of marshmallow. Louis’ spoon darts out as he tries to steal it and they jab at each other, metal sliding over metal, clinking obnoxiously. Niall nudges it off their spoons and scoops it up, taking a step back and stuffing it in his mouth.

“Maybe,” Harry says, over the noise of Zayn and Louis protesting. They shrug at Niall. “Just had a feeling.”

“Good intuition, Haz,” Niall announces, to see the way Harry beams. 

They go silent, everyone diving into their ice cream. Louis gives himself brain freeze trying to eat it too quickly. When Liam goes to take the piss, Louis dares him to eat a whole spoonful. It’s not something Niall would do, but Liam’s a much braver soul by far. He shoves a whole spoonful of mint chip into his mouth and immediately starts whimpering. 

“Swallow it, swallow,” Louis goads. Liam’s throat and jaw work the ice cream over as his eyes water. Once he’s got it down, Louis leans over and taps Liam’s cheek approvingly. “Thumb to the roof of your mouth, there’s a good lad.”

Liam goes as he’s told and visibly relaxes as his brain warms up again. 

“You’re an evil fucker,” Niall says, unable to keep the note of pride out of his voice. Both Liam and Louis positively beam at each other.

“We do everything together,” Louis says, with a self-important sniff. “Even brain freezes.”

“And now you owe me a dare,” Liam replies, smug as hell. 

“That I do, Payno, that I do,” Louis winks at Liam and goes back to eating his ice cream. Liam sticks the spoon in his own and turns to Niall, expression very serious. Niall blinks at him.

“You’ve picked, haven’t you?” he asks, leaning his hip against the corner of the table. 

Niall chokes on rocky road as his lungs stall in his chest, buzz of adrenaline starting up under his skin. It makes his brain go a bit fuzzy around the edges when everyone turns to look at him curiously. 

Niall shrugs tightly. Liam looks apologetic.

“You don’t have to --”

“Have you?” Louis cuts Liam off loudly. Not accusatory, but his curiosity has a sharp edge nonetheless. 

Admitting it should be easy. He figured he would answer if anyone asked, but Niall finds himself tongue tied and cornered by the question. The knowing way Liam’s looking at him. It’s been weeks and weeks, it probably shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s been caught out, but there’s still dread sitting heavy in his stomach; the dead weight of fear. 

“I’ve been looking at your psych profile,” Harry volunteers, sounding nearly apologetic. Niall blinks at them. They shrug. “It’s interesting. And free for public access, well --”

“Harry knows Leigh-Anne,” Zayn says, keeping Harry from rambling. “Leigh-Anne’s --”

“One of my Psych-Analysts,” Niall says. He knows who Leigh-Anne is. Leigh-Anne Pinnock and Jesy Nelson are the Psych-Analysts assigned to him for the Drift Initiative. Perrie Edwards and Jade Thirlwall are the K-Scientists that tag along and act as if they have any relevance to his part of the DI. All four of them make him wish he was smarter on a regular basis. 

“I asked,” Harry says. They look contrite. “Sorry, I was curious.”

“S’fine,” Niall says, with a shrug. It’s Harry. What’s he going to say? A small part of him is glad Harry’s invested. Sometimes he wonders if he’s making up how intensely he feels these connections. As if wanting them bad enough would make him feel _this_ ; the twisting inevitability of the five of them. 

“I noticed patterns,” Harry says, after a moment. Their eyes are bright now, smile tugging at the corners of their lips like they know how clever they are. 

“How’d that go, love?” Louis asks, eyes still on Niall. Harry makes a surprised noise in their throat. If it was lighter in the room, he’d probably see a pretty pink blush on their cheeks. As it is, he sees them duck their head and roll their eyes before they answer.

“Well, like, Niall’s always had consistent responses,” Harry says, their finger drawing circles and spirals zig-zags on the chrome top of the table. “You can track that from the Academy to now --” they look up at Niall -- “but since the DI started, your answers seem to be influenced by who you're connecting with during a session.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Liam asks.

“Means he’s Drift Compat’ with everyone,” Louis says. “We knew that.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’,” Zayn says. Harry nods quickly, mouth twisting. 

“Preferences keep showing up,” they say. “Certain people whose answers he matches up with over and over again. Not coincidences, strong preferences.”

“Which means he’s made the decision,” Louis says, sounding so sure of himself. 

“Knew it,” Liam says. 

“How did you know, babes?” Zayn asks, leaning around Niall to look at Liam properly. 

“We… spar a lot,” Liam says, with a shrug. “Felt like the right thing to say. Felt like I was right. Sounds like I was.”

“Well?” Louis prompts. Everyone turns to look at Niall. 

“Uhm,” Niall says, eloquently. The room feels a lot smaller than it was.

“You’re not going to hurt our feelings,” Louis says sharply, rolling his eyes. Niall doesn’t actually think that’s true, but it doesn’t matter, does it? He’s picking them, either way. Like he’s going to pick anyone else. Like he was _ever_ going to pick anyone else. 

He hasn’t even thought about any of the others outside of DI training. Once they’re outside of that Combat Room, they’re out of Niall’s head completely. There’s only room up there for so many people. These four, his family, Bressie. That’s it.

That’s been eating at him, too. Letting the others think they’re still competing for a place on his team when they’re not. It’s all glorified training at this point, but Niall hasn’t said anything, too caught up in his own insecurities to open his mouth about it. 

“S’not that,” Zayn says, reading Niall like he always does. Like those nights when Liam’s not up to spar and Niall’s down in the guts of the nearest Jaeger, too deep in his own head. Somehow Zayn always knows, comes and pulls him out, and makes Niall go up to the roof with him to look at the stars and chat shit. “Is it?”

Niall can feel him drift closer, the ghost of his presence at Niall’s back. Niall tries not to tense when Zayn’s arms come around him, chin hooking over Niall’s shoulder. 

Niall shakes his head. He wishes he could say what he was thinking. Wishes he could tell them what he told Bressie -- about being afraid even though he knows it’s what he needs to do. He’s been putting it off for weeks, sure, but he knows -- 

“You don’t have to be scared,” Liam says, low enough that Niall almost misses it, but still so loud in the quiet darkness of the kitchen. Everyone flinches simultaneously -- barely, but visible enough -- even Liam himself. 

“I’m not --”

“No lying,” Louis says, cutting him off with a shake of his head. “Once you start drifting, you can’t --”

“It’s better if you don’t lie,” Harry agrees. 

“Jawaad and I used to do this thing,” Zayn says, eyes firmly fixed to the table top. Niall feels the collective heartbeat of the room skid to a halt, stutter on the uptick. The room feels claustrophobic for an entirely different reason, now. Zayn carries on like he doesn’t notice the way the four of them freeze up. “Before we went into a Drift, we’d tell each other shit. Like, secrets, or whatever happened that week. That way there weren’t any surprises in the Drift.”

“Payno and I do something similar.” Louis is the first to unstick his tongue, giving Zayn a small smile that somehow doesn’t come across as pitying at all. ‘Cause it’s not, of course. 

“That’s how I know too much about who he wants to shag,” Liam says flatly. 

“Like that’s better than all your hand-holding fantasies,” Louis responds snidely, but he’s nearly grinning. It sounds like a well-worn discussion. “Complete sop about love, this one.”

“Are you not?” Harry asks curiously, wide eyes staring unblinkingly at Louis. “Do… you not?”

“I do,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes. “Do _you_?”

“I do,” Harry responds, shrugging. “The way you said it --”

“He falls in love,” Liam says, poking Louis in the side until Louis giggles and stops watching Harry like he’s waiting for a viper strike. “He’s just not romantic.”

“I show my affection _physically_ ,” Louis sniffs. Liam’s shoulders hunch up the tiniest amount, almost unnoticeable, but Louis’s reaching out to reassure him immediately, hand curling around Liam’s elbow. “‘Cept for you, petal.”

Liam doesn’t say anything, and Louis’ hand tightens on Liam’s elbow, mouth going sideways. “Liam --”

“Leave it, Tommo,” Liam says, reaching up to squeeze Louis’ forearm before he drops it. Louis nods, but he doesn’t make away. Instead, he drifts closer, presses their sides together. Liam makes a disgruntled noise, but shifts so he can hook his arm over Louis’ shoulder, letting Louis sink into the curve of Liam’s body. 

“Sorry,” Harry says, with a frown. 

“Not you,” Louis replies quickly, with a shake of his head. They drop it. 

“I don’t --” Everyone looks at Niall. Niall feels himself flush, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He doesn’t have to tell them what he told Bressie, he reminds himself. Not all of it, at least. But he should say something, he really should… “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. About -- about this whole thing. About you all.”

“It is us,” Harry says, sounding triumphant. They lick at their spoon thoughtfully, silly little grin on their face. “I knew it.”

“Well, _that’s_ not rocket science, mate,” Zayn says, with loud giggle. The rest of them blink at each other and laugh too. Niall feels his spine loosen, tension trickling away as much as it can. He still feels like he’s ready to vibrate out of his skin, but he’s less queasy with nerves. 

“I like hearing him admit it,” Harry sniffs. 

“Yeah, it’s -- it’s you four,” Niall says, rolling his eyes. He looks at the wall, the table top, the floor. There’s still heat in his cheeks, knots in his stomach, but he’s trying. “Has been since, like, the beginning.”

“Shit,” Zayn says, inhaling sharply. “Weeks, like…?”

“Yeah, I --” Niall doesn’t know if he wants to have this conversation. If he wants them to _know_. All the anxiety over it’s keeping him from sleeping, from concentrating. He knows that. He knows it’d be easier if he had out with it, but it’s not… easy. 

It’s not easy to figure out how he feels about it all. 

It’d be easier if it were one or two people, but there’s four of them. Four people he has to trust with all the weird, tangled up bits of himself. 

“Don’t overthink it, lad,” Louis says.

“Either you want us, or you don’t,” Liam agrees. 

“The way you got Zayn and I when the Breach Alarm went off,” Harry adds.

“Seems like you might want us,” Zayn finishes, with a cheeky grin. 

It’s so ridiculous Niall can’t keep himself from laughing loudly at the four of them. All eyes on him, watching. Anticipation clings to the air around them. It _feels_ like they want it, too. That maybe they want it as much as he does…

“Jesus Christ.” Niall exhales, leaning back against the table. 

“It’s freaky, right,” Zayn says, drifting closer. He drags the pads of his fingers up the inside of Niall’s wrist. Niall’s pulse jumps under the electric shock of his touch. “You’re the only one of us who hasn’t Drifted. Don’t know what it’s like.”

“Don’t know what to expect,” Liam says thoughtfully. “‘Cause there’s expectations, right?”

Niall blinks at him.

“Everyone’s always on about how Drift Partners connect,” Liam continues. “Family’s pretty obvious. But strangers… Strangers always fall in love, or end up fucking. There’s not… much of an in between, right?”

Everyone nods, waits.

“Even if Pilots are ‘just friends’, it’s like,” Liam pauses. Louis rubs an encouraging hand over his buzzcut. “You’re still close… Intimate -- yeah, it’s intimate.”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees. Not that he would know, but duh. 

“Honestly, I’m bricking it,” Liam says, with a sideways smile. “Before we started the DI, I never dreamt of Drifting with anyone else.”

“Never would have _dared_ ,” Louis says, making himself sound important. Liam smiles at him indulgently. 

“And it’s different, right?” Liam goes on, wiping his palms on his thighs. His dark eyes flick up to Niall’s, then down again. “Since I’m asexual. Like, you all -- I can tell you’re all like, attracted to each other. Louis’s definitely attracted to all of you --” Louis smacks his hand against Liam’s stomach -- “Ow, Christ, it’s _true_ \--”

“Move on, Li,” Louis orders, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Niall barely manages to stifle his giggle.

“The _point_ is like, it’s different for me, with anyone I Drift with. I’ve known Louis since I was a toddler, but I just met you all and at some point we’re going to Drift? That’s fucking terrifying.”

“A lot of connections you can’t anticipate,” Zayn says, smiling a tiny bit. “How you’re gunna feel about people once you Drift.” 

“I have PTSD,” Zayn continues, after a moment, turning to look at Niall. “Like, badly.”

“Nightmares,” Harry says, smiling apologetically when Zayn nods. “Rough nights.”

“Flashbacks too,” Zayn says. “Dissociative episodes… I haven’t Drifted with anyone since Jawaad. I’ve been too scared to try. That I’ll, like, dump all that shit into everyone’s head.”

“Five people carrying around shared memories is easier than one,” Niall says quietly. “Might lighten the load.”

Zayn shrugs, nods. Niall gets it, how weighted it would be for Zayn to Drift with people again. How it might affect him, and in turn, affect the rest of them as well.

“You know, there’s like --” Louis doesn’t let any silence linger once Zayn fails to say anything in response -- “so many things you’re not supposed to ask or assume about trans people, right? There’s loads.”

“Loads,” Harry agrees, they shuffle closer to Louis, fingers curling around Louis’ elbow. A grateful smile flickers across Louis’ face before it’s gone again.

“Anyone in my head knows all of that,” Louis continues lowly. “My name… The way I was raised, what I looked like with all the wrong bits -- having _sex_ with the wrong bits. Anyone in my head gets to feel how I felt about myself before I transitioned.”

A sharp inhale cuts over the last of his sentence, and everyone turns to look at Harry. They look a bit ill, nervous. “I get dysphoric, I --” Harry takes a deep, steadying breath. “You’d have to, like --”

“It’s fine,” Louis says quickly, making Harry’s shoulders slump with relief. “The point is that it’s scary for all of us. I don’t think any of us know what the fuck we’re doing, or what’s going to happen. There’s a lot of shit we’ve got locked up, and a lot of shit that probably shouldn’t work out --”

“Yeah, you’re -- Louis, technically you’re only DC with Niall and Liam,” Harry interrupts, with a sideways grin. “According to every psych eval you’ve ever taken, you would kick Zayn and I out of your head immediately.”

“Does that mean it won’t work, then?” Zayn asks, frowning sharply. “The five of us?”

“It will,” Louis says loudly. He looks like he believes what he’s saying. “We’re Nialler’s team.”

“It’ll work,” Liam agrees, quieter but with no less conviction. 

“We should try it,” Harry says, quickly. They stick their spoon in the top of the ice cream, slapping their palms down on the table and leaning forward. “Try to Drift.”

“All the Pons systems in the Jaegers are two person,” Liam says. “I’d try it mate, but where are we going to find a Pons that’ll do five people.”

“The girls in Psych,” Zayn says thoughtfully, while Harry nods along. “They Drift all the time, for experiments, like... That’s how they knew the DI would work in the first place. They’ve made massive advancements in group Drifting.”

“How do you know that?” Niall asks curiously. Across from him, Harry feeds Liam one last spoonful of mint chip before they put the top back on their ice cream, sealing it with gusto. They grab the rocky road, ignoring Louis’ displeased “oi!” and put the top back on that one, too. 

“I dated Perrie,” Zayn says, with a sideways smile. “For like, a long time. They’ve been working on group Drifting since I was in the Academy.”

“That makes sense,” Niall says, blinking. There’s not really an explanation for the hot, jealous feeling that curls up at the bottom of Niall’s stomach. Perrie is a lovely girl, she really is. 

The look on Louis’ face suggests he might know exactly what Niall’s thinking. Niall shoves the thought firmly away. It’s not a thing. Niall knows he’s attracted to Zayn. Has been since they met on the Observation Deck. There’s been a lingering tension, but Niall’s been content to let it go. Zayn and Harry are doing whatever they’re doing when they stay in each other’s rooms. That’s never made Niall jealous before, but knowing about Perrie is making him a bit green? It doesn’t make sense. 

Niall’s already thinking about them as a unit before they’ve settled on anything, Jesus Christ.

“They’ve done it four ways,” Zayn continues, oblivious to how weird Niall feels. “They’ll probably know how to get us all together.”

“Let’s fucking do this, then!” Louis says, punching at the air. Harry’s already putting the ice cream back and taking the spoons from everyone to put in the sink.

“Do you think they’re up?” Liam asks, checking his watch. There’s a mess of notifications that he has to swipe past, and Niall didn’t even think about the fact that people might be looking for Liam and Louis right now. 

They killed a Kaiju and instead of celebrating properly with the rest of the Shatterdome, they snuck off to the kitchens to steal ice cream. 

For some reason, that makes Niall feel important. 

“Shot ‘em a message,” Zayn says, sliding over to Louis so he can loop his arm around Louis’ waist. Louis shifts his weight so he’s leaning against Zayn instead of Liam. “We can head over to the Labs in the meantime.”

They have to untangle to move, but Zayn doesn’t go far, catching Louis’ hand when he pulls away. If Louis is surprised, he doesn’t show it. He lets Zayn hold his hand as they all walk out, keeping close. 

“Cute,” Harry sniffs, falling in next to Liam, grinning at Niall. 

Niall scrunches his nose at them and takes their hand, arching an eyebrow. 

“Adorable,” they say, letting out a laugh. On their other side, Liam frowns and takes their hand. Niall’s heart jolts in his chest when Liam does, skin tingling with static where Niall’s touching Harry; his palms, the grooves between his fingers.

“I’m running out of adjectives,” Harry says, dimpling at Liam. The grin on Liam’s face stretches wide. 

“This feels nice,” he says, as they trail Louis and Zayn. They’re a sight: clasped hands swinging between them, feet in perfect step with each other -- left, right, left, right, left… The space between the five of them feels magnetic, a gentle pulling between the two groups. 

Niall imagines it would get stronger if they let Zayn and Louis get too far. The urge to stay close is overwhelming. It’s not suffocating, though, and Niall doesn’t know what to do with that. He’s not used to any of this -- wanting to be involved with people on such a base level. 

He has the crew, all the J-Techs he’s been surrounded with since he landed at the LA Shatterdome. He loves them all fiercely, protectively, but this different. Different than Bressie, even. 

He thinks about the fear he felt that night he kissed Bressie. Thinks about the way his spine shook when he thought about meeting the Candidates. Even now, he’s fucking scared. The stakes are high, he doesn’t know how it’s going to wind up, but… But this feels stupidly natural, like being afraid is a silly self-preservation instinct he doesn’t even need to entertain. 

It might be.

Probably is. 

“I know it’s scary,” Harry says, squeezing Niall’s hand, reading Niall’s mind. They might be psychic, honestly. “But I don’t think I’m scared.”

“I am,” Liam says, with a shrug. “I’m excited, too. It feels like we’re meant to do this.”

“Fuck up a five person Drift?” Louis says loudly, looking back at them. “Or meant to be together?”

“Both,” Harry and Niall say at the same time. They both laugh loudly, hands clenched tight between them. 

There’s a small knot of people up ahead, leaving a rec room. There’s a ruckus of congratulations as they pass. Louis and Zayn have to part as people pull Louis in for a hug and a high five. The tingling in Niall’s hand lessens for a half second when Liam drops their hands to get his own kudos. 

Niall hangs back with Harry, letting them have their moment. As soon as the wave of people pass, Zayn picks Louis’ hand back up. Liam stays next to Louis, like he can’t bear to be far. 

“I wonder if velcroing will be easier with more people,” Harry comments. “Get passed around until it wears off.”

“Wouldn’t you want to be cuddling the person you Drifted with?” Niall asks. He honestly doesn’t have a clue. 

“Right,” Harry agrees, nodding seriously. “But If Louis and Liam go out, and Louis cuddles with you after. If we all Drift, would it work?”

“No idea, mate,” Niall says, with a shrug. “Guess we’ll have to see.”

The grin Harry aims at him is blinding. “Guess so,” they say happily.

“Think we’re going to do it?” Zayn asks, sparing a glance backwards. Louis and Liam look over their shoulders, freaky and synchronized. 

“Absolutely not, mate,” Niall says delightedly. “We’re botching it the first time. I have a feeling in me gut.”

“I have a feeling in _me_ gut that it’ll go brilliantly,” Harry says, full pout on their face. Niall sticks his bottom lip out before impulsively leaning over, pulse jumping in his chest as his mouth hits their warm cheek. Harry makes a sweet, surprised noise.

“It’ll go brill… eventually,” Niall says, not much of an agreement.

“I guess we’ll see,” Zayn says loudly, cutting through their moment. When Niall looks up, they’re all smirking at Harry and him.

“Guess so,” Niall says, cheeks going hot while everyone laughs.

They’re at the entrance to the labs. Well, ‘entrance’ feels like an overstatement when it’s an archway that leads to an open floor of tables and computers and equipments. There are Kaiju parts stored in standing glass cases; whiteboards and chalkboards covered in illegible letters and numbers. 

Several projectors are on, displaying huge blocks of text and images. The three panel screen in the middle of the room is playing the Conn-Pod footage from the battle they just came from. The Cat II Kaiju and its stats are on the far right. 

It wasn’t easy to get a good look at it when it was in the water, but they already have a digital rendering of it up. The split jaw looks even more reptilian and deadly as the on-screen pixelated Kaiju opens and closes its mouth. 

Niall drifts closer, watching the animation move. It hunches and crouches, spreading its huge batlike wings. Spikes pop up along its spine before retracting. It’s tails flick, moving independently of each other. He didn’t notice there were two out on the ocean, but he was distracted. 

“Badass, innit?” Jesy asks, popping up next to him. She’s smiling widely, eyes bright with excitement. 

“How do you know the spikes pop in and out?” Niall asks, pointing to the ridge of the Kaiju’s back.

“HAZMAT let us have a look at it,” Jesy says. “Well, Perrie and Jade are still out there, but they’re sending me all the information. The spikes function similar to claws. Instead of elongated neural spines or bony ossification, they’re purely keratin and have a retraction mechanism.”

“Badass indeed,” Niall agrees, blinking.

“S’quite weird how we can barely figure out what elements the Kaiju themselves are composed of because they’re not, you know, _from Earth_ , but these spikes are definitely keratin.”

“That is strange,” Niall agrees, not knowing what that’s supposed to mean. She’s looks excited, and she’d talk at him about it for hours if he asked, so he changes the subject. “We need a way to Drift.”

“Who does?” Jesy asks. “You and...?”

“The five of us,” Niall says, feeling ridiculous when he says it out loud.

“Oh five,” Jesy exclaims, lighting up. “ _Five_. Five of you!”

“Yes, five, Jes,” Niall laughs, rolling his eyes. He looks around for the others. They’re making interested noises at the display, watching the Conn-Pod feed as it loops. 

“Perrie and Jade are going to be _pissed_ they’re not here,” she says, gleefully. “Alright, follow me.”

Niall gives a short whistle to get the attention of the others. They all turn at the same time, four sets of eyes on him. 

“That’s fuckin’ freaky,” Jes announces, before beckoning them to follow her. 

She leads them all into a separate room. This one’s modelled similarly to a Combat Room. A large empty space with half a dozen carts sporting Pons systems on them. There’s chairs scattered everywhere and, inexplicably, a beanbag chair. 

Louis throws himself into the beanbag chair with a sigh as they all gather around. 

“Where’s Leigh-Anne?” Harry asks, tip-toeing their fingers over the screen of the closest Pons system. 

“Headed our way,” Jesy says, already pulling the headsets out from the nearest cart and unwinding the long cords. 

“Always reminded me of them aliens,” Liam says, as they all watch her do it.

“From Alien?” Zayn asks, nodding his head seriously.

“Yeah, exactly,” Liam says. They beam at each other, the giant nerds.

“At least they’re not laying eggs in our bodies,” Harry says, very seriously. It’s so deadpan, Louis absolutely loses it laughing, writhing around on the beanbag. Harry looks so pleased with themself, Niall has to laugh as well. 

“A five way Drift!” Leigh-Anne crows, jogging into the room. She heads to Harry first, giving them a kiss on the cheek before she hugs Niall tightly. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Told you he had us picked,” Harry says, sounding incredibly smug. Leigh-Anne sticks her tongue out at them.

“That you did,” Leigh-Anne agrees. “Guess you get bragging rights for a bit.”

“I do,” they agree.

“Five way Drift, Leigh,” Jesy says, coming up next to Leigh-Anne like she wants to remind Leigh-Anne what’s happening. Like Leigh-Anne could forget. “Five way.”

“Five,” Leigh-Anne sing-songs, grabbing the headset from Jesy’s hand and shoving it over Harry’s head. “One for you, Harry.”

“Thank you,” they say politely, before spinning around in cat-like circles to locate a chair. 

“One for you,” Jesy says, handing one to Niall. Niall takes it and lets out the neck strap before sliding it over his head. The whole thing curves to his skull, neck pieces more weighted than he’s used to. Drift simulators don’t bother with a Pons. It’s more virtual reality than anything. 

Drifting requires a machine to read and relay neural activity, so there’s mech he doesn’t understand involved. It… gets in there and makes all your brain activity available for the person you’re hooked up to. All your thoughts on display...

For the first time since Harry suggested it, Niall considers not going through with any of it. 

“You alright?” Zayn asks, quietly coming up next to Niall. His fingers brush the inside of Niall’s wrist. The electric pulse of it is reassuring. Niall breathes. 

“Aces,” he says, even as his voice shakes. He can do this. They all can. 

Once the others have their headsets, Jesy and Leigh-Anne round up a couple chairs and set them up in a circle, wheeling a cart in close. Louis drags his beanbag chair in close and settles. 

Niall sits next to him, craving the reassurance Louis’ confidence tends to bring. Louis grins at Niall and throws his arm around Niall’s shoulder, letting Niall sink into his side. 

“Five ways require a little bit of finagling,” Leigh-Anne says, messing with the wires that lead to the system. “With four, we can add two splitters and be done with it, but for five, we need two splitters and a splitter on one of those splitters.”

“Does that cause a delay?” Zayn asks curiously, watching her work.

“Nah,” Jesy answers for Leigh-Anne. “Pons are so advanced that all the relay happens in a fraction of a microsecond. If the timing is off, we can’t detect it. The electrical impulses in our brains can’t even detect it.”

“Promising,” Harry says, with a wide grin. They look excited now, and Niall’s feeling it too. That low crackle of anticipation at the base of his skull. Next to him, Louis fidgets restlessly. If Niall reached and touched him, he knows Louis’ muscles would be tense, waiting for it.

“Oh definitely,” Jesy agrees. They watch as she hits the big power switch and the whole system whirs to life, headsets lighting up as they turn on. Niall feels queasy again. The kind of anxiety-ill that’s so unsettling he feels like he needs to walk it off, but he doesn’t think he could stand if he tried at the moment. 

“Please keep your bodies in a neutral position,” Leigh-Anne says, in an impressive announcer voice. “Do not attempt to move once we initiate the Drift. Neural risk is incredibly low the more people there are sharing the load, but bridges are incredibly fragile when you add so many minds.”

“If you get out of alignment, don’t fight it,” Jesy adds. “It’ll make things easier. Some of you may stay in the Drift while others get kicked out. Do not disconnect while others are still Drifting. Just, sit there in your own brain. We’ve added a mechanism to the switches that will kick the unresponsive minds out of the bridge, but the headset stays. Got it?”

“Got it,” the five of them say, all at once. The girls laugh out loud, but Niall’s too nervous to laugh along. Jesy presses a button and the screen starts flashing. Niall’s going to hurl. 

They exchange glances, and Niall’s feels the weight of the moment in his chest. The crushing, claustrophobic feeling that comes from being excited and terrified at the same time. This is the moment it all truly changes. Once they Drift, that’s it. There’s no turning back. 

Niall breathes as Louis slips his hand into Niall’s, tangling their fingers together. Both their palms are tacky with sweat, but Niall’s so grateful he could cry. Across the circle, Harry and Zayn’s legs are bouncing around erratically. Liam’s held perfectly still, eyes wide. 

“Ready?” Jesy asks, looking at each of them in turn. 

No.

“Ready,” the five of them say in one voice. 

Jesy grins and flicks a switch. The screen and the headsets light up Kaiju Blue as a calming, automated voice emits from the machine.

_Neural handshake initiated…_

 

 

**MAY 2019 - YEAR SIX OF THE KAIJU WAR**

 

It’s far too early in the morning when Niall’s woken up by lips against his neck, warm hands sliding over his hips. He knows it’s Louis, knows the kind of lazy energy Louis has in the morning when he’s horny. 

“What’s the craic?” Niall mutters sleepily, turning so he’s on his back. Louis rolls on top of him, and Niall takes his weight, grunting. Their legs slot together nicely, Niall’s morning wood pressing into the crease of Louis’ thigh. It’s too early in the morning to bother keeping his hips still, so Niall doesn’t, rolls them up, lets Louis feel him. 

“It’s morning,” is all Louis says, ducking down to nuzzle at Niall’s neck some more. 

“Where’s everyone?” Niall asks. He doesn’t know who’s here and who’s gone besides Louis, but he can tell some people are missing. After a moment, he asks, “Zayn’s here?”

“Zayn’s sleeping,” Louis says. 

“Zayn’s not sleeping,” Zayn mutters from Niall’s right. When Niall turns his head to see Zayn emerging from the blankets, blinking at Niall sleepily, Louis bites down on the sensitive skin above Niall’s pulse. Niall gasps quietly, fingers digging into Louis’ hips. Zayn’s teeth sink into his bottom lip, eyes darting between Niall and Louis. 

“Oh good,” Louis says, grinning sharply. He turns to look at Zayn, raising his eyebrows. “I think we should have a proper wake up then.”

“What about Li and Haz?” Niall asks, rolling his eyes. The dangers of sharing one room with five people is getting caught with your arse out when you’re trying to get off. It’s happened to them all numerous times, Niall doesn’t know if he’s in the mood.

“Liam is off even the littlest of kisses,” Louis says, frowning. He looks dangerously close to pouting. Which Niall understands. Liam kisses are hard to go a day without. “And--”

“We can make it up to Haz later?” Zayn asks, scooting closer. Niall watches his hand sneak under the edge of Louis’ shirt, petting over his low back, little lazy circles that make the back of Niall’s head tingle.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees quickly, arching into the touch, spine curving as his breath hitches.

“Good,” Zayn says, leaning over to kiss Louis’ shoulder, pressing right up against their sides. Louis shifts to let Zayn in their space as Niall slides his hand up Zayn’s ribs. He likes feeling the way Zayn’s breath hitches, skin furnace warm under Niall’s palm. 

“You’re burning up,” Niall says, frowning. Zayn runs hot as a rule, but his skin feels blazing even though he’s shirtless.

“Blankets,” Zayn mumbles sleepily. 

“Nah, it’s ‘cause you’re _hot_ ,” Louis says, pressing the sharp point of his nose to Zayn’s cheek. It’s so corny Niall has to laugh, indulging Louis. 

“You’d know,” Zayn says. It’d be nonsensical, if it wasn’t so true. 

“We should shut up and get to touching,” Louis announces. He’s holding himself up above Niall so he doesn’t actually move his hands to do that. Niall grins up at him cheekily as Louis sighs exasperatedly. “ _Well_?”

“Oh, you wanted us to...?” Niall says, trailing off, faux frown on his face.

“Oh, _us_ ,” Zayn says, running his fingers up Louis’ spine, then down. He slips his hand out of Louis’ shirt and shifts up, sliding his fingers through Louis’ hair and tugging. Louis arches and grunts, eyes going dark and hot. “You wanted us to touch you?”

“Yes,” Louis says, exhaling heavily, two seconds away from panting, Niall’s sure. 

Niall’s own heart pounds in his chest. He’s not the one being touched so deliberately, but he can feel the ghost of it; the arousal spiralling down Louis’ spine, the anticipation building in Zayn’s gut. The feeling reverberates through the three of them, making Niall gasp for air. 

“Never gunna get used to it,” Louis declares, before practically falling on top of Niall to kiss him. Niall groans and meets his lips, letting Louis lick into his mouth. It does take long for Zayn to get impatient and tug Louis’ head back, getting a kiss of his own. 

Niall watches the way their jaws move as their lips catch, pink of Zayn’s tongue darting out. Niall’s painfully hard pinned under Louis’ hips, can’t keep himself from grinding up into the groove of his thigh.

“Someone should fuck me,” Niall says, a bid for attention. Both of them pull back and look down at him at the same time. Niall flushes, squirms. “Just like, yeah.”

“Still loose from last night?” Zayn asks, grin going predatory. 

The heat on Niall’s cheeks gets worse as he thinks about the way they fucked in the shower at nearly 0200 last night, quick and rough and everything Niall needed right then, unable to sleep from Zayn’s nightmares chasing themselves around in Niall’s head. It was an apology, and a way to wear them both out so they wouldn’t wake up their bedmates. 

“Yeah, probably,” Niall admits quietly, pretending he doesn’t see the way Louis and Zayn look at each other as they simultaneously move back and tug his pants off, both their hands on his waistband. 

Niall laughs and kicks as his legs get tangled, briefs catching around his knees, then ankles. They figure it out easily enough, and Zayn’s the first one to come back and kiss Niall, teeth sharp against his mouth, one big hand cupping the bottom of Niall’s throat like Niall’s going to try to go anywhere when they’re kissing like this.

“Shit,” Niall says, with a groan, arching as Louis tugs at his cock. He’s already wet, feels the filthy slide of Louis’ hand as he wanks Niall, slow and deliberate.

“So hard for us,” Louis says, sounding smug. It’s easy to imagine the quirk of his mouth, so self-satisfied. 

“‘Course, Tommo,” Niall says against Zayn’s mouth, hands coming up to grip at Zayn’s biceps to anchor him. “Always.”

“Always what?” Zayn prompts. 

“Always -- shit -- hard for you,” Niall says, trying to concentrate as Louis wanks him, tight and perfect. Exactly how Niall likes it. Bastard. 

“Always easy for us, too,” Louis says. 

Zayn’s kissing him again, dirty lick of his tongue in Niall’s mouth, but Niall’s cognization enough to feel the press of Louis’ lips on the sensitive inside of Niall’s thigh -- the bite of his teeth, the light trace of his fingers as they get closer to the curve of Niall’s arse.

“Yeah,” Niall agrees, letting his legs fall open as a perfect example. Zayn pulls back long enough to grab the lube off the floor and hand it to Louis before he comes back and drags his lips over Niall’s jaw, biting at it before he sets his teeth to Niall’s pulse.. Niall inhales sharply, eyes going cross. 

“Jesus Christ, lads,” Niall says, feeling dizzy with the stimulation. They ignore him. Which is fine by Niall, he’s just along for the ride. 

Louis nudges a pillow under Niall’s hips -- Harry’s pillow, Niall’s pretty sure -- and they switch off, Zayn’s hand going around Niall’s cock while Louis sits back and tugs off his shirt, flinging it across the room, before slicking up his hand. 

“Ready, love?” Louis asks, heavy eyes on Niall, and Niall’s practically buzzing from anticipation, wound so tight he feels nonverbal. All he can do is nod. ‘Course, it’s not good enough for Louis. “Use your words, Nialler.”

“Wanker,” Niall gasps when Louis pinches the inside of his thigh. It’s not exactly a punishment when Niall likes that kind of thing, but it’s the thought that counts. “Lou… _please_.”

“He said please,” Zayn says, voice thick, eyes on Niall’s face. 

“That he did,” Louis says, with a little hum as he pushes in, small hand warm on Niall’s leg as he holds Niall’s knees open. 

“Ah, fuck,” Niall says, feeling the twist and press of Louis’ fingers, the way he pulls out and nudges back in with two immediately. 

“Still loose,” Louis comments lightly, curling his fingers hard. Niall’s hips jolt, breath catching. “Zayner fucked you good, didn’t he, baby?”

“Yeah,” Niall says, hardly able to reply, thinking about the way Zayn pinned him to the shower wall, forearm leaning into Niall’s shoulders, hand on the back of Niall’s neck keeping his cheek pressed to the tile. It was all rough thrusts and low grunts, their bodies curled together so tightly Niall couldn’t actually tell where he ended and Zayn began. 

Chased all the dark shit out of both their heads, left them gasping for air afterwards.

“Takin’ it so well,” Zayn says, right as Louis slides in a third finger, hand petting down Niall’s stomach, knuckles catching his hard cock. 

“Who’s first?” Louis asks, pressing up against Niall’s prostate so hard he cries out.

“You should fuck Niall, while I fuck you,” Zayn says, turning his head so his lips drag along Louis’ ear. Louis groans, and Niall’s dick twitches at the thought.

“Do we even have time?” Niall asks, swiveling his hips down onto Louis’ fingers to chase the friction. Louis’ hand’s still now that Zayn’s teasing him, and Niall doesn’t appreciate that at all. 

“Liam and Haz _just_ left,” Louis says, looking down at Niall while Zayn’s white teeth sink into the thick muscle of Louis’ neck. The way Zayn’s contorted to do it can’t be comfortable, but he doesn’t seem to mind, keeps kissing and nipping at Louis’ skin. “We’ve got time.”

“Good,” Zayn says, low and satisfied. He leans back over to kiss Niall before pulling away and positioning himself behind Louis, big hands running over Louis’ sides. “Let’s get these off you.”

Louis starts fingering Niall again as Zayn shimmies his joggers off his hips. Since Louis is on his knees, he has to pick each one up carefully so Zayn can tug them off one leg at a time. It’s ridiculous, and endearing. 

“We should have planned this better,” Niall complains, rocking his hips down again. Louis’s terrible at multitasking, and Niall hears the soft _clack_ of the lube cap, so it’s only going to get worse from here on out. “Do ye want me to stretch meself, Tommo?”

“No, I got it baby,” Louis says, but it’s half-arsed, eyes fluttering shut as Zayn moves behind him. He groans, back bowing, and Niall hears the slip-slide of Zayn’s fingers inside Louis.

It takes a few long seconds, but Louis starts moving his hand again. Niall’s content with the slow drag of his fingers as he watches Louis’ face get steadily more blissed out, cheeks going a sweet pink as Zayn opens him up. 

“Fuck, feels good,” he slurs, lashes fluttering. When he looks down at Niall, his eyes are dark, the color of the ocean at night. Niall feels his throat catch as Louis lets out a particularly low moan. He curls his own fingers up and hits Niall’s prostate.

“Fuck, yeah,” Niall agrees, back arching. “Fuck, hurry up, Zayn.”

“Doin’ my best,” Zayn says hurriedly.

“Don’t get fucked as much as you do, love,” Louis teases, dipping his head down to leave a scatter of kisses over Niall’s cheeks. 

“That’s a feckin’ lie,” Niall protests, but it’s without conviction. He can tell Zayn’s nearly finished with Louis, and he’s too excited about getting fucked to argue about getting fucked. 

“Louis should get in first,” Zayn says, grabbing a condom off the bed next to Louis. “Then me.”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees, gasping loudly as Louis pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the bedspread. 

A foil packet pops up over his shoulder, then Zayn’s face. “Need help with this?”

“Do I have to?” Louis smiles cutely and leans down, pressing a couple kisses to Niall’s jaw before he says, “I can feel you so much better without it.”

Niall whines as he scrapes his teeth over Niall’s ear. 

“Love feeling you around my cock,” Louis says, sweet and seductive, voice a low purr. “So hot and _tight_ \--”

“Alright, Jesus Christ,” Niall pants, biting at Louis’ scruffy jaw sharply. He wants Louis _in him_. “S’not like you’re gunna make a mess.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Louis says, pressing more kisses to Niall’s neck and cheek before licking into Niall’s mouth with his clever tongue. Niall moans approvingly when he hears the lube bottle again. He opens his eyes enough to see Zayn getting Louis hard and slicking up Louis’ cock, both his hands occupied. 

“Ready, love?” Zayn asks, lips to Louis’ ear. Louis shivers, and they both look down at Niall, terribly fond, soppy feelings coming off them in waves. Niall whines and covers his eyes with his arm. They both laugh at him. 

Niall feels their weight shift collectively, Louis’ thighs hitting the back of Niall’s. 

“Fuck yeah,” Niall says as the head of Louis’ cock catches on his rim. He tilts his hips up invitingly, and there’s hands on his waist, holding him still as Louis presses in slowly. 

“Shit, Niall,” Louis says, exhaling. “Fuck.”

“Stay there,” Zayn says. Niall peeks out from under his arm, meeting Louis’ gaze. Louis gives a cheeky hump forward, and Niall bites down on a curse word, not willing to give him the satisfaction. 

“C’mon, c’mon,” Louis says impatiently, cock drawing out to the tip as he arches his back for Zayn.

“Patience,” Zayn says. Niall sees him rise up on his knees and slot behind Louis. “Bend over.”

“Yeah, sure,” Louis replies, rolling his eyes, but he drops onto his elbows, narrowly avoiding headbutting Niall. He nudges Niall with his nose and they snog like that, deep and slow and satisfying. 

Louis’ mouth goes soft when Zayn starts pressing into him, breath hitching beautifully as his eyes shut. He drops his head onto Niall’s shoulder, so Niall watches Zayn’s face instead -- the frown of concentration, the way he looks as sex drunk as Louis. When Zayn catches Niall’s eyes, he winks and kisses the air, making Niall giggle, even as Zayn’s cock nudges Louis’ hips, pressing Louis’ cock deeper into him. 

“Ah, fuck,” Niall whimpers as Zayn starts to move, one big hand on Louis’ shoulder for leverage, fucking into him with measured strokes. Louis pushes back against Zayn before thrusting into Niall, doing something with his hips that makes Niall’s eyes cross. 

“God, you feel so good, Lou,” Zayn mumbles, barely intelligible. “So fucking tight.”

Louis nods in agreement, seemingly past any words. 

They fall into a rhythm like that, Zayn’s hips driving into Louis, Louis grinding forward into Niall. Niall’s eyes fall shut, feeling all the sensation blanketing his body -- the feeling of Louis in him and Zayn in Louis and ghost of Niall tight around Louis and the feeling of Louis around Zayn -- arousal thick and tense and all encompassing. 

It’s hot under the two of them. There’s sweat under Niall’s arms and all along his back, at the crease of his thighs, the back of his knees. Louis is sweaty too, Niall feels the damp waves at the nape of his neck when he slides his hand through Louis’ hair and tugs him down for a kiss. 

Their lips meet with a shock that makes Niall gasp, and Louis chases the taste of static, tongue darting out, teeth biting into Niall’s bottom lip and tugging before he moves to Niall’s neck, biting down at the same time his hips give a particularly dirty thrust.

“Jesus Christ,” Niall whines, trying to catch his breath. There’s a tight, electric feeling between his hips, and he knows Louis’ going to come soon, breath fanning hotly over Niall’s collar as he grunts with Zayn driving into him. His own thrusts have gotten lazy, too overwhelmed to keep at it. 

“Gunna come, baby?” Zayn asks, leaning over to press his chest to Louis’ back. It puts more pressure on Niall, traps his cock between his belly and Louis’, giving him some much needed friction. Niall whines and arches, trying to get off. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis pants, and Niall feels it, that desperate build of Louis’ orgasm at the bottom of Niall’s spine, sharp and sweet. 

“Nialler, I’m going to fuck you after he comes,” Zayn says, meeting Niall’s eyes over Louis’ shoulder. Niall nods hurriedly. Zayn grins at him, thrusting so hard it jostles the three of them. 

“Oh my _fuck_ \--” Louis whimpers, trying to keep up with how hard and deep Zayn’s fucking him, hands gripping the sheets on either side of Niall’s torso for leverage. It doesn’t take long for Louis to sob against his neck and come with a long shudder, hips stuttering to a stop as his body curls against Niall’s. 

Behind him, Zayn pulls out carefully, hands soothing over Louis’ sides, pressing kisses to Louis’ shoulders. 

“Alright, love?” Niall asks, stifling his whimper as Louis groans and pulls out. 

“Aces,” Louis says, with a sigh. “Switch me, then.”

They take a moment to rearrange hurriedly, Louis sliding under Niall with Niall between his spread legs as Zayn comes up behind Niall. His hands are hot when they grab Niall’s hips and pull him back. Niall falls onto his palms and arches instinctively, leaning down to snog Louis as Zayn lines up behind him and starts pressing in. 

The second Zayn’s hips are pressed to the back of Niall’s arse, Louis’ hand curls around Niall’s cock, wanking Niall in time with Zayn’s thrusts. Zayn’s arm is around Niall’s middle for leverage, sweaty forehead pressed between Niall’s shoulders.

“Oh shit,” Niall exhales heavily, arms starting to shake. He loves the differences between Zayn and Louis. How their cocks feel inside of him, the way they fuck him -- Louis’ slow grind compared to Zayn’s steady strokes. “I’m not gunna last, Z --”

“Not yet,” Zayn mutters, breath hot against Niall’s back. Louis’ hand squeezes the base of Niall’s cock tightly as Zayn drives in harder. Niall feels like he’s going to collapse, muscles burning as he holds his and Zayn’s weight. 

Zayn thrusts into him over and over, too slow to give Niall friction. Louis isn’t doing much besides sliding his hand over Niall teasingly, aimless and maddening. Niall’s too overstimulated to do anything other than whine their names and take it, boneless with pleasure. He _really_ wants to come. 

“Hand me the lube, yeah?” Louis says, cutting through the fog in Niall’s brain. Zayn slows down enough to hand it over, and Louis grins wickedly, squirting some on his palm. “Closer, loves.”

Niall has no idea how they’re supposed to get closer, considering Zayn’s inside of him and he’s right on top of Louis, but Zayn gets it, hot palm pressing between Niall’s shoulder blades until Niall drops to his elbows, chest and stomach pressing against Louis’. 

“Gimme space,” Louis says, tapping Niall’s hip. 

“Can’t.” Niall grunts as Zayn fucks into him again, fingers sliding into his hair, tugging hard. Niall hisses through his teeth, arching at the small of his back, taking Zayn in deeper. 

There’s a slick hand around his cock and a triumphant noise from Louis as he wanks Niall again -- once, twice, before he’s grabbing his own cock along with Niall’s and pulling them off at the same time, fingers spread wide to accommodate them both.

“Ah shit,” Niall whimpers. There are too many sensations again, too much to focus on. He’s dissolved into a mess of nerve endings, has no idea where he ends and the other two start. They’re all close to coming, so close Niall feels like he’s suffocating from it. 

Zayn fucks into Niall harder, Louis twists his hand tighter. Niall leans down to snog Louis, desperate for something to anchor him, but the filthy slide of their tongues makes everything worse, and Niall comes when Louis’ teeth bite into his bottom lip and tug hard enough to make his eyes water.

It barely takes anything for Louis and Zayn to both come after that, orgasms making Niall shudder with delight. Louis hisses and lets go of both their cocks, pushing Niall over. Zayn rolls along with him, arm fitting around Niall’s hips as he pulls out and strips the condom. 

Niall rolls onto his back so Zayn can climb on top of him and slot their mouths together, fisting his hands in Niall’s hair and holding onto him tightly. Kissing Zayn is intense, sharp and biting, and Niall lets it sweep him away, desperate for Zayn’s lips on his. 

“Christ, motherfuck,” Louis says, hitting at Niall’s side after he and Zayn have been snogging for long minutes. “Get off each other.”

“Shut up,” Zayn says, pulling back from Niall. Niall makes a noise of complaint and runs his nails over the back of Zayn’s scalp, hoping to coax him back. “You got plenty of kisses.”

“Not kisses from you,” Louis says, sticking his bottom lip out obnoxiously. The eyeroll Zayn gives him is impressive, but he still leans over to kiss Louis, holding himself up above Niall. 

He’s half hard again from them kissing. 

“How much time do we have?” Niall asks, running his hands down Zayn’s sides. He hasn’t had a cock in his mouth this morning, feels like he should see to that as soon as possible. 

Louis gives him a terribly fond look, like he knows what Niall’s thinking. 

“Not enough,” Zayn says, finally getting off Niall and settling between him and Louis. Niall turns onto his side, head on Zayn’s shoulder, and watches Louis wipe the come off his stomach with Niall’s pants. His hand dips down, making himself soft with a satisfied sigh before he mirrors Niall and lays on Zayn’s other shoulder. They both sling their arms across Zayn’s torso, tangling their fingers together, Zayn’s hand comes up and covers theirs.

“Shame,” Niall mutters belatedly, feeling sleepy from his orgasm. From what he can see, Louis feels the same, eyes already shut, thick lashes fanning over his cheekbones. He lets himself drift as Zayn traces nonsense patterns on his shoulder. There’s something solid and warm in the center of Niall’s chest. He feels so content he’s fit to burst with it. 

Zayn hums, agreeing to Niall’s thoughts without Niall having to say them outloud. He’s sure Zayn can feel all the soppy feelings coming off him either way. It’s comforting, that so much can go unsaid, but they all still know what’s going on in Niall’s head -- how he’s feeling. 

Niall’s nearly asleep again when there’s a slow, heavy series of knocks on the door. Embarrassingly, his whole body perks up in recognition. 

“S’for you,” Zayn slurs, right in his ear. 

“S’Bressie,” Louis adds, head popping up enough to smirk at Niall. He’s a mess -- lips still bruised from kissing, hair sticking up all over the place from Niall and Zayn’s hands. 

“Yeah,” is all Niall says, rolling out of bed and tugging on the nearest pair of joggers. He glimpses himself in the mirror. There are a few light marks on his collar, but he’s… presentable. Whatever, not like it matters.

“Hey,” Niall says, pulling the door open. Bressie’s right there, slouching against the door. He pushes off when he sees Niall, giving him a sweet smile, all dimples.

“Hey, little,” Bressie says, eyes soft. That familiar, warm feeling settles in Niall’s chest, making him flush. 

“Bressie!” Zayn shouts, from the bed. Louis makes nonsensical cat call noises, whistling and wailing. It sounds more like an ambulance than anything. The ambulance he’ll need once Niall’s done kicking his arse for being an embarrassment. 

“Hey, boys,” Bressie says, looking in past Niall. Luckily everyone’s mostly covered. Zayn’s even sat up. Bressie pulls a worried face and turns back to Niall. “Boys, right?”

“Yeah, Haz is out running,” Niall says, pressing his smile to his shoulder. Bressie’s so careful about Harry; once they got the pronouns straightened out, he made an effort to get it right. Even made Niall talk about them loads whenever Niall was in the hangar working on Jaegers without the others, for practice. It was sweet. “What’s the craic, head?”

“Got something to show you,” Bressie says, biting at the soft curve of his smile. Niall eyes him suspiciously.

“Is it something _big_?” Louis asks loudly, from under the covers. 

“It’s _got_ to be massive, bro,” Zayn says, before they both cackle and collapse into each other. 

“Please ignore my teammates,” Niall says flatly. If there was anything in reach to throw at the both of them, he’d chuck it. “They’re wankers.”

“Well, it is quite large,” Bressie says, grinning. The blush on his cheeks seems to be deeper. Niall scowls and socks Bressie in the arm, even though he knows it won’t hurt. Bressie pouts anyway, big hand cupping his bicep like Niall could possibly do any damage. 

“Are we going to talk about it, or are you going to show me?” Niall complains. It’s bad enough that he has to deal with all the innuendo from the others; he doesn’t know if could deal with it from Bressie, too. 

“Put some clothes on,” Bressie shrugs. He looks over Niall’s shoulder again. On the bed, Louis’ moved so that he’s cuddled up to Zayn, arms tight around Zayn’s waist, sheets riding dangerously low down his hips. Niall grimaces. 

“We’ll be right there,” he says, planting his palm in the middle of Bressie’s chest and pushing him out of the room. “I need to get some pants on this lot.”

“Do what you must,” Bressie says with a shrug, letting Niall shut the door on him. 

When he turns around, both Zayn and Louis are watching him with infuriatingly knowing looks on their faces. 

“Don’t say a word,” he warns, while they snicker at him. Flipping them off, he makes his way over to the cubbies lines up against the wall. He chucks a set of clothes at each of them before rooting around for a shirt. 

They’re all dressed in a couple of seconds. Louis pulls a cap with a PPDC logo on over the bird's nest that is his sex hair, and they open the door to Bressie still waiting patiently. Niall arches an eyebrow, and Bressie rolls his eyes, but obediently turns and lets Niall hop on his back. 

The best thing about Bressie is that he is so _large_. Niall can drape himself over Bressie’s shoulders and hang there, no effort travelling. If he wanted to, he might be able to fall asleep, but he couldn’t really -- not with Bressie’s warm hands on his thighs and Louis watching Niall teasingly from under the brim of his hat, waiting to take the piss at the first opportunity.

“You’re very tolerant of him,” Louis sighs, falling in beside Bressie. Bressie makes an amused sound, but Niall can’t see his face. 

“Known him for awhile,” Bressie agrees. “Feel responsible for ‘im.”

“Oh, is that all?” Louis says, with a sharp grin. They all know it’s not, so Bressie doesn’t bother responding. If Niall had more energy, he’d kick Louis for being cheeky, but he doesn’t. He tightens his grip on Bressie minutely before releasing, squeezing reassuringly. 

“Heyo!” Harry shouts, running up on them. Liam’s right behind them, flushed and panting. They both look… hot. In all the meanings of the word. Harry’s curls are grown out a bit, so they’re keeping everything under control with headbands, but sweat has the edges sweetly spiralled as the hair sticks to their face. 

“Hey, Haz,” Zayn says, lifting his arm so Harry can slouch under it. He doesn’t seem to mind that Harry’s a bit gross right now, which Harry probably appreciates. They fall into step with everyone, eyes fluttering shut before they’re frowning. 

“There were shenanigans,” they say accusingly, opening one eye to glare at Louis. Zayn giggles into their hair, and doesn’t comment.

“Would you have wanted to?” Louis asks, shrugging before he squints at them. “You’re dysphoric.”

Out of all of them, Louis can sense when Harry’s dysphoric the easiest. For Niall, it’s an uncomfortable feeling, but one that’s removed -- like if he Drifts with Liam when he’s sex repulsed. The emotions are like ghosts, not quite Niall’s, easy to differentiate between; but Louis had to deal with that a lot before he transitioned, knows the feeling intimately well. 

Now that Niall’s thinking about, he can sense it, too -- a tight, suffocating feeling all around Harry’s body making their skin itch. 

“Would’ve kept my pants on,” Harry mutters, pout forming on their lips. 

“I’ll make it up to you later, then,” Louis promises, leaning over to smack an obnoxious kiss to Harry’s cheek. It’s loud and wet, and Harry squeaks in surprise, pushing Louis away.

“You better,” they grumble, scrubbing at their cheek even as a deeply pleased feel resonates through the five of them. 

“It’ll be good, I’ll tell you all about what happened with Niall and Zayn this morning,” Louis promises, voice going low and rough. A sweet spark of arousal lights up Niall’s tummy at the thought -- Louis whispering in Harry’s ear, leaving kisses on their neck, teasing them -- 

“Please, children,” Bressie says, sounding grumpy. Niall wonders if he can tell everyone around him is having naughty thoughts. “Not in public.”

“Oh, forgive me,” Louis says, sarcastically, but there’s a pink flush to his cheeks, and Niall feels it, the jolt that goes through Louis as Bressie chastises him. Niall smirks, hooking his chin over Bressie’s shoulder as Louis glares at them.

“Aww, look at him blush, Bres,” Niall teases. Only, he’s not _really_ teasing, he does think it’s sweet. For awhile, he was worried about how the others would get along with Bressie -- considering how edgy Louis is, and how Liam goes along with that more than anything; added to how reserved Zayn is, and how disinterested Harry seems to be in anyone that’s not the four of them right now -- but saying it’s going well would actually be an understatement. 

“You’re rubbing off on me, Nialler,” Louis replies, with his own playful look, knowing he’s been caught out.

“Literally,” Liam mutters, from the other side of Harry. Niall actually has to stifle his laugh in Bressie’s shoulder, but the others aren’t so kind -- they giggle loudly, falling all over each other.

“Alright, alright,” Bressie says. It sounds like he’s trying not to laugh as well. Niall kisses the back of his neck in apology, watches in fascination as the skin goes blushy almost instantly. There’s a chorus of ‘ooohs!’ from the others. 

“You’re never gunna win, Bressington,” Niall says, squeezing Bressie again for good measure. 

“Probably not,” Bressie agrees, but he doesn’t sound too put out by it. He’s ridiculously easy going about Niall’s boisterous teammates, much to Niall’s relief. He’s not sure what he would do if none of them got along; there’s no way he could deal if the two biggest aspects of his life, outside his family, disliked each other.

Luckily, the others understood. Loved taking the piss out of Niall for being so soppy about Bressie, but they understood. 

There’s a crowd when Niall and the others get to the hanger bay. Niall tightens his hold on Bressie as they make their way through. The roof of the Shatterdome is open to the bright blue sky, filling insides of the hanger warm with golden light. 

“Got some more mechs in?” Niall asks. The only reason they open that up during the day when it’s hot as shite is to airlift Jaegers in and out. No one’s going out, so something’s coming in. 

“One more,” Bressie says, excitement evident in his voice. Niall’s heart jumps, stomach knotting with anxious nerves. “Specialty order, this one.”

Niall doesn’t have time to ask what that means. They break through the crowd and it’s staring him right in the face -- a shiny, new dark green Jaeger. 

“Surprise,” Bressie rumbles, letting Niall slide off his back. He lands on shaky legs, unable to speak. Liam chuckles and taps him under the chin. Niall’s mouth snaps shut.

“What the fuck,” Harry says, exactly what Niall’s thinking. 

“Modelled it after the Wei Tang Brothers’ triple arm Jaeger,” Bressie says, coming up behind Niall. His hand is big and warm and reassuring as it settles on Niall’s shoulder. “Three pilots to drive this thing.”

“It’s mine?” Niall asks. It feels like it’s his -- smaller than both Romeo and Juggernaut, but sleeker. Probably light and fast. As light and fast as giant, thousand ton robot can be, anyway. 

“All yours,” Bressie says. “And your team’s.”

“But mostly mine,” Niall says, cheekily, even as his eyes go hot and tight, even as a thrill runs through him. His own fucking Jaeger. 

“Mostly yours,” Liam says, suddenly right next to Niall. Niall chokes back half a sob in surprise. The others are around him as well, circling him. Niall wipes the back of his wrist over his eyes and spins, grabbing Liam and tugging him in close.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Niall says, inhaling deeply. Liam laughs at him, whole body vibrating with it, clinging to Niall just as tightly. 

“A three pilot Jaeger,” Harry says, sounding awed. “Shit, can’t wait to get in that.”

“Dibs!” Louis yells, bumping into Harry’s side. “Me, Niall, some other unfortunate soul --”

“You _have_ a Jaeger,” Zayn reminds him, chin tipping up stubbornly. “Niall, Haz, and I in one. You and Liam in the other. S’how it should go.”

“Excuse you, Malik,” Louis says haughtily, but Liam interrupts. 

“Please don’t act like you’d let someone else pilot Romeo,” he says, shaking his head fondly. Liam’s right, is the thing, but Louis is Louis and won’t admit it.

“I can share,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes. “Besides, it’s about time. We _are_ a team, aren’t we?”

“Oh, _now_ you want to share,” Harry says, hip checking Louis with more force than Niall thinks is strictly necessary. Louis scowls. “Now that there’s something new and shiny.”

“I _love_ new and shiny,” Louis growls, whirling around to pin Harry up against the railing, hands planted firming on either side of them, boxing them in. “And I like getting my way with it.”

“That was a poor innuendo, mate,” Harry says, but their cheeks are all pink, tongue darting out to wet their mouth. It looks like they’re a second away from snogging right there -- both of them stupidly wound up and excited -- Niall knows _exactly_ how they feel. 

Bressie reaches over and cuffs Louis in the head. “We’re in public, lad.”

Louis looks over his shoulder and shrugs, even as he steps away. “Everyone’s paying attention to the robot.”

“Does it have a name?” Liam asks, directing them back to the Jaeger itself as Harry tugs down their shirt with a sniff and Louis leers.

“No, Niall gets to name it,” Bressie says, ruffling Niall’s hair fondly. 

“I’m gunna name it something obnoxiously Irish.” Niall sighs happily. He feels Harry looking at him and catches their eye.

“Clover Krakken --” Niall says, right as Harry blurts out:

_“Clover Krakken --”_

“Guinness Giant --”

_“Guinness Giant --”_

“Leapin’ Leprechaun!” 

_“Leapin’ Leprechaun!”_

“Christ, I’m going to barf,” Louis says, as Niall and Harry dissolve into hysterical giggles. “That was terrible.”

“Clover Krakken,” Zayn says disdainfully. 

“He’s picking Leapin’ Leprechaun,” Bressie says, because he knows Niall far too well. The others don’t look surprised at all, because _they_ know Niall too well. 

Niall’s side is in a stitch as he tries to breathe, so he can’t answer the accusation. All he can do is nod as big _haw haw haws_ come from him, stomach clenching painfully tight. 

“I’m going… to pass out…” Niall gasps, trying to get himself under control. Harry’s managed, trailing off with little giggles. They’re still looking at Niall, unbearably fond.

“He wants a tricolor painted across the chest,” Liam says, hands arching through the air. 

“A tricolor for a tri-armed Jaeger,” Louis agrees. The worst part is _they’re not wrong_. 

“Absolutely,” Niall says, once he’s gotten himself under control. He turns to Bressie, noting that the fond look on Bressie’s face is frightfully similar to the look on Harry’s -- silly and affectionate and, _Jesus_ , it’s all too much for Niall to handle. “I’m putting in a work order right now.”

“Consider it done, chief,” Bressie says, with a wink. Niall beams at him appreciatively. 

“Test run?” Niall asks, bouncing on his toe. “Take ‘em both out.”

“Should get up there,” Bressie says, looking at his watch before his eyes flick upwards to the large screen above the entrance to the hanger where the Countdown Clock is. Niall follows his gaze in time to watch it turn red, Breach Alarm blaring, emergency lights flashing to life. 

“What the _fuck_?” Louis demands, jumping in surprise. 

“May have told the girls down in the lab to warn me about an event ahead of time,” Bressie says, tugging Niall away from the rail and towards the catwalk. It’s a straight shot to the lift from here. The lift to the Drivesuit Rooms. Christ. 

“How long’s she been sitting in the hanger then?” Niall demands, letting himself be steered around. The others fall in step, quiet but excited. Niall can feel the anticipation surrounding them all, thick and suffocating. 

“A couple o’ days,” Bressie shrugs. “Not too long. Looked her over meself. You’ll be good to go.”

“Good to go,” Niall echoes. Good to fucking go. Good to go and Drift inside a Jaeger for the first time, fight a Kaiju for the first time. Up ahead, Harry’s holding Zayn’s hand tightly, knuckles white. 

“You’ll be okay,” Bressie says reassuringly as they get to the lift. Zayn jabs at the button impatiently as Niall whirls on Bressie. Bressie’s watching him with soft eyes, and Niall’s dizzy with gratitude. 

“Shit, shit,” Niall mutters, throwing himself at Bressie, arms around Bressie’s neck. Bressie grabs him around the waist and tugs him up off his feet, squeezing him just as tightly. 

“So feckin’ proud of you,” he says, low and sincere.

Behind them, the lift chimes, doors sliding open. 

Niall grins and pulls back, pressing a chaste kiss to Bressie’s mouth. Some sort of promise he intends to keep, even if he doesn’t quite know what he means by it yet. 

“Love you,” he says, pressing their foreheads together, licking his lips to taste Bressie’s smile.

“You too, chief.” Bressie squeezes him tightly once more before he drops Niall back onto his feet. Niall feels lit up from the inside out, nearly invincible. Goddamn, he can do this. He can fucking _do this_ \--

“C’mon, Nialler!” Liam shouts right as Niall turns, shoulders against the lift door to keep it from closing. 

“Do the romantic good-byes later, love,” Harry says, beckoning Niall with his hand. Niall grins and darts in for another hug, letting Bressie push him away towards the loft. 

“Go on ye good thing!” Bressie shouts as Niall runs to the lift -- hitting Liam full on, both of them stumbling inside. 

The lift doors close on Bressie waving at him, and Niall turns to his boys and Harry, giddy as all hell. It’s all over their faces as well, the absolute thrill of it. 

They come together without thinking, slinging their arms over each other’s shoulders until they’re all in a huddle. Liam’s on Niall’s right, Zayn on his left. He can feel Louis’ fingers reaching across Zayn’s back to touch his shoulder, and Harry’s fingers clutching at him from Liam’s other side. 

With the five of them touching, it feels like they’re all ready to supernova, bursting with energy and excitement. Their light stretching through infinity and back again. He knows that he’ll feel them in the Drift -- even when Louis and Liam have to go to their own Jaeger, he’ll feel the four of them effortlessly. 

The first time the five of them had tried to Drift after the Kaiju fight was a disaster. Attempting it while they were all post-fight buzzin’ and mentally exhausted was the worst idea any of them ever agreed to. The Pons system kicked everyone out except for Zayn and Niall, and Zayn’s memories pulled them both down. 

Niall remembered the day he met Zayn, the day he saw Crimson Juggernaut. He remembered thinking about how invasive it was to have seen the Conn-Pod footage. The worst thing that had ever happened to this Ranger, this _stranger_ , for all the world to see. And Niall had seen it, no matter how accidental. 

It felt like he knew too much about Zayn when he shook Zayn’s hand for the first time. Felt like it was unfair, somehow, to know that part of him without being invited to it. 

Actually being inside the memory was worse. So much fucking worse. 

The acute fear that paralysed Zayn in the moment, the feeling of Jawaad -- partner, cousin, best friend -- being ripped from the Jaeger, being disconnected. The immediate collapse of Zayn and the Jaeger, unable to function without Jawaad and Niall -- Niall knowing how ready Zayn was to die in that moment, feeling the acceptance so clearly…

Feeling the disappointment when he was fished out of Crimson Juggernaut’s half flooded Conn-Podd. The agony of every day after that without Jawaad, the black hole in Zayn’s chest where he used to be. Stars in space collapsed in on themselves with less devastation.

They both came out of the Drift gasping. Niall lungs weren’t working properly. It’d been so long since he had a panic attack, but he was already under water, unable to fight it. All he could feel was the burn in his chest, Louis’ hand still in his, holding on so tightly Niall’s bones creaked.

He didn’t get it under control until Zayn came up to him and pressed their foreheads together, telling Niall to breathe, trying to calm him down even though it was Zayn’s awful memory that Niall was reacting to.

That was the first time they kissed. 

It was probably stupid, kissing someone after reliving through their worst trauma with them, but Niall couldn’t help it, couldn’t keep himself from clinging to Zayn and pressing their mouths together -- an apology and promise all in one. 

_I’m sorry. You’re not alone_.

That’s all it took for Niall to stop wanting to run from it. The promise of not being alone. How willing the others were to keep trying to Drift despite _that_ \-- despite anything any of them had inside their minds. 

Nothing was too overwhelming, too intimidating, or too much to handle when it was the five of them. 

“I love you all,” Liam says. It’s so quiet Niall shouldn’t be able to hear it, but he does. He _feels_ it, feels it in his chest. Solid, reassuring. 

“Love you,” they all echo, pulling each other in closer. If Niall weren’t so busy trying to keep himself from flying apart, he’d probably be choked up again. That warm, content feeling radiates through him, through them all, and Niall clings to it for reassurance. 

This is it. 

This Drift is going to change everything. 

Harry catches his eye. “Scared?” they ask, grin beautiful and wicked and so bright it’s nearly blinding.

“No,” Niall says, laughing out loud when he realizes that it’s finally true. “Not at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Some quick housekeeping: the "velcroing" touched on with Lilo post-Drift is a concept from fanon that I absolutely had to incorporate. Nessie wasn't originally supposed to be a pairing at all, but Niall was very... very in love with Bressie, and I felt it was a great way to highlight so much of Niall's trepidation with the DI so that's where I went. I hadn't written a transmasc character who had bottom surgery before. I decided to do that with Louis, and hopefully that was apparent in the scene with him and Zayn and Niall. And yes, Niall does name his Jaeger Leaping Leprechaun. 
> 
> Thank you so much for being here, thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please take a moment to drop a note for the artists here or at their Tumblrs, they deserve the most love!
> 
>  [Reblog the art!](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/160258121757/art-by-the-lovely-and-talented-citricac1d-and)
> 
> _There are things you can’t fight. Acts of God. You see a hurricane coming, you get out of the way. But when you’re in a Jaeger, suddenly, you can fight the hurricane. You can win._


End file.
